


Shoot to Kill

by LateToEveryFandom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gender-neutral Reader, Multi, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Occasional PoV changes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible smut, Post-Apocalypse, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Romance, Slow Burn, Swearing, Zombies, but no guarantees, minor gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateToEveryFandom/pseuds/LateToEveryFandom
Summary: In 2131, monsters emerged from the Underground. In 2132, the literal apocalypse made the surface a living hell. It turns out zombies weren't such an unrealistic end-of-the-world prediction after all.It's been a pretty shitty four years since. Most survivors would tell you that monsters brought the beginning of the end, and you aren't one to argue. Your bullets make no distinctions between undead and magical abominations, and when you actually manage to kill a monster, you become a target. Whether or not you survive the aftermath, you’re connected with monsterkind (and the annoying skeleton they’ve assigned to babysit you) for the foreseeable future.Good luck, survivor.
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 117





	1. Apocalypse, End-Times, Etc.

By 2130, everyone expected it to be climate change that would fuck shit up irreversibly. After all, it was already starting to do that- ocean levels had been rising steadily since, like, 2040, and the smog was getting worse every day. People all sort of figured that they’d eventually either run out of dry land or bake to death on our pressure cooker of a planet. You had almost come to terms with it, too.

Then, everyone thought it would be the monsters. Like, oh yeah, cherry on top of our quickly worsening situation, a bunch of cryptids just crawled out of a mountain. Time for an early Halloween! It was a pretty big surprise (to say the least) when the monsters started waxing poetic about interspecies peace and pushing for a treaty.

Barring any unpleasant surprises, the laundry list of Apocalypse Contenders seemed pretty clear.

All that to say, no one could’ve expected the fuckin’ zombies. You least of all. When the first headlines started coming out four years ago about aggressive, reanimated corpses, you laughed along with the rest of the world.

Then the rest of the world started getting infected. First it was friends of friends, people you only distantly knew. Then it was an aunt you hadn’t seen since the big family reunion eight years ago. Then it was your next-door neighbor, the lady you used to babysit for.

It was when you found your best friend’s armless body shambling down the street that you realized you had to get the fuck out of dodge. Eventually, that led you to other survivors.

You aren’t an idiot. You would’ve died if not for some serious goddamn luck. As good as you are with fighting now, you barely knew your way around a Nerf gun back then.

Most people like you, the normal boring ones, are dead. Now all that’s left are the crazy people, the desperate people, and the monsters.

* * *

You adjust the strap of your rifle across your chest as you wait at the perimeter. It’s a nervous habit- so close to the treeline, you might not notice something coming until it’s too late.

You’re not quite sure when “better safe than sorry” became your mantra, but it definitely is.

You straighten at the crunch of hard-packed dirt under boots. It’s the steady, even footfall of a human, not the shuffle of a corpse, so no need to panic... But it’s still hard to control that initial thrill of fear at the sound of something approaching. 

“Hey!” You turn in the direction of the shout, grinning down the path at your patrol partners. “Look at you, ignoring the damn buddy system.”

You raise a hand in greeting. “My _partner_ had to take a piss. The buddy system can’t stop the call of nature, apparently.”

Cory and Morgan stop next to you, peering out into the trees.

You’ve been patrolling with them since you joined camp. They’re both a year or two younger than you, but that doesn’t make them any less intimidating- Cory looks like he stepped out of a zombie movie, all thick beard and wiry muscle, and Morgan may not look the part, but hiding in her small frame is some scary power.

And then Spencer stumbles out of the trees, seemingly determined to break the Cool Badass Squad illusion. Your “buddy” looks less zombie-ready and more college-party-ready, down to the hoodie and jeans.

Cory frowns at him. “You didn’t think to take a leak _before_ patrol?”

“The last group ain’t even back yet, man.” Spencer shrugs. You tune out the pointless bickering and turn your focus back to the trees.

Camping in the middle of the woods seems, on paper, like a stupid idea. You raised the concern yourself when you first got here- how can we fend off attackers that we might not even be able to see until they’re on us? Sure, zombies are dumb enough to run into trees, but a monster won’t be so stupid.

Speaking of which.

“Any new intel?” You can tell you cut Spencer off there, but somehow can’t find it in yourself to feel bad.

“Yeah.” It’s Morgan who steps forward, pulls a folded sheet out of her pocket. “More deets on the river monster.”

The river monster. One of the biggest threats among the monsters- reports describe a hulking fish-person with the teeth of a shark and an arsenal of harpoons. Sightings usually involve it crawling up out of the water during skirmishes between zombies and survivors. Patrols rarely stick around long enough to see it do much more than pull one of its jagged spears out of thin air.

You glance over the updated sketch. Lina, the only decent artist in camp, has essentially taken the role of sketch artist, stepping in when there are monsters to make profiles for.

Looks like whoever gave her this description got up close and personal- details jump off the page. A scar peeks out from under the monster’s eyepatch, one of its middle fingers is missing a claw. Definitely not a stranger to fighting.

You shudder. “Better hope we don’t run across that thing today.” 

Morgan nods in emphatic agreement. Your patrol is in the lucky category of people who haven’t seen any of the legit monsters. Your only “sighting”, if you can call it that, was a pile of dust after one of the other patrols killed one of the smaller monsters.

“Michael also saw the skeleton again. Said it didn’t move like a zombie, but it still freaked him out,” Cory cuts in, eyes dark.

The skeleton. Sighted for the first time a few weeks ago. Arguments have been raging ever since over whether it’s a zombie that’s somehow held together despite being fully decomposed or some spooky-scary-skeleton monster.

Whatever it is, it seems dangerous. The first time it got spotted, it apparently disappeared between one blink and the next. Freaky shit, to say the least.

“Good to know we got another freak to worry about.” You smirk. “You’d think we’d have seen 'em all by now.”

When the monsters crawled out of that damn mountain, it seemed like every kind of beast ever imagined was accounted for. You can remember news reports featuring dragons, ghosts, bipedal turtles, even that charismatic robot that every channel ended up interviewing at some point.

And somehow, you’re still discovering new species.

“Get used to it. We’ll probably be finding new ones until we go extinct,” Spencer grins. Everyone gets a chuckle in before the seriousness starts to descend again.

The silence only has a moment to settle before the sound of people in the trees reaches the group.

You can see the previous patrol just past the first few layers of underbrush. They look serious. Something must’ve gone down.

The leader raises a hand in greeting. You wave back. 

The exchange of patrols is always a delicate balance between psyching up to enter the woods and trying to read whether the other group is freaked out about something they saw.

Sometimes it’s the only way to know what to expect. This time, though, the leader stops in front of your group. “Stay alert. We saw a dog out by the ridge.”

Spencer lets out a chuckle. You join in, because… seriously? “Thought you saw a ghost. Who cares about some stray?”

The leader’s mouth cuts a hard, thin line across his face. “Not a _dog_ dog. One of the monster ones.”

That shuts you and Spencer up real fast. You think you hear Morgan drop an f-bomb under her breath, and honestly, you feel the same way.

She speaks up for real a second later. “Did it see you?”

The leader shakes his head. “Nah. We were quiet. Don’t know how it didn’t see us, though.”

You nod. “We’ll be careful. Go warn the camp.”

You pull your rifle off of your back, gesture for the others to flank you, and head into the trees.

* * *

A breeze through the canopy is the only sound. Other than the faint trail winding its way through gnarled roots and mossy earth, the forest is as untouched as it is ancient.

As much as you can joke about being surrounded, camping out in the middle of these woods was a stroke of genius on the part of the founders. Zombies can sneak into camp, sure, but they have to make it through a gauntlet of roots and rocks that are practically designed for knocking them on their uncoordinated asses.

Occasionally, the group comes across a moaning pile of flesh on the ground, entrapped by a pitfall or root snare and decomposing where it fell. The humane thing to do is to knife it in the head.

This is all routine, and the patrol moves forward without a hitch. The trail forces you to move single-file, covering Cory’s back and Morgan’s front as Spencer trails behind.

Occasionally, something will crunch or rustle in the distance. Guns’ll raise in whatever direction the sound came from, only for a bird to flap out of a bush or a rabbit to slip out into the brush.

The animals here are survivors, too. They’re just as easily spooked as your group.

There’s no talking. Zombies usually lose their sense of hearing last, and making a racket is the best way to let every corpse in a half-mile radius know where you are. That’s why the guns are only for immediate threats- those are the loudest things you have on you.

It also makes it easier to hear things. You’ve just hopped over an outcropping, and you can hear the river in the middle distance.

You can also hear what sounds like something being dragged through the moss.

“The fuck is that?” Morgan whispers from so close that the hairs on your neck raise. You glance around.

And then you spot it. Well. You spot _her_. Seems like she was a middle aged woman before she got zombiefied. Her dress is still hanging onto her frame, too, so she probably wasn’t bit that long ago. Her hair is long and matted, and snags on the ground every few feet as she drags herself inch by inch towards you.

You’re not sure how her legs got so mangled, but damn are they destroyed. Probably got caught by a group when she got turned, because they look half-eaten.

“Damn.” Spencer mutters.

Seeing the zombies like this, when they’re not threats… you can tell this one was a living woman, not too long ago, and it brings back that part of you that still hasn’t processed the new reality.

A gunshot rings through the woods, cutting off that depressing train of thought, and she collapses face-first into the dirt. You turn to Cory as he lowers the muzzle of his rifle.

“Good shot.” You don’t bother being quiet.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t waste time getting back on the trail.

* * *

You’ve almost forgotten about the dog-monster warning by the time you start to loop back towards camp. Other than the one incident, the border’s been quiet today.

That’s why you almost trip over your own feet when you see the bipedal goddamn dog.

In literally any other circumstance, a bipedal, fully-clothed dog would be extremely comical. In this circumstance, it reads less as a fursuit and more as a _horrific **thing**_.

To make matters worse, the dog is holding a pair of knives in a pair of fuckin’ _human hands_.

Everyone else is equally freaked out. Cory’s gun is drooping in his hold, pointing at the gun as he stares in transfixed fear. Spencer’s jaw is on the ground. Morgan’s eyes are wide.

You’re pretty sure you look like a mashup of all three of them.

And then the monster turns around and stares right at you. You don’t dare breathe.

“I thought I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye…” The dog speaks _English,_ in a deep, rough voice, as its eyes rove over the group. “Probably my imagination.”

It turns away again. You take the opportunity to raise your gun with shaking hands.

Before you can take the shot, it turns again.

“There it was again.” The dog lifts one of its knives (which are now a glowing blue, what the hell), eyes narrowing even more. Its yellowed teeth glint. You try and keep from shaking too hard or dropping your gun. “Don’t move a muscle. Or do. It would be nice to see you, whatever you are.”

You pull the trigger.

* * *

It turns out that monsters dust pretty instantaneously. It’s more like an explosion of dust than a trickle. You hadn’t known that before.

It’s all you can think about, as you walk back. The rest are talking around you, about how good that shot was, how scared they were. You can barely hear them.

The way the dog’s eyes widened before it exploded into a raining shower of pale gray dust. The way some of it is still clinging to your clothes.

The thrill of victory (you kicked a monster’s ass for the first time, after all) is warring with a weird, uneasy sense that this isn’t over.

That sense follows you back into camp. It follows you through the celebrations, through your shower, and into your tent.

You barely get to sleep, tonight.

* * *

It’s just past midnight. The moon is almost full, and the light filters through the gates of another camp. The biggest tent, right in the center of the main clearing, is the only one not darkened for the night. It's also the only one still making any sound.

The thud of a fist hitting the table fills the space.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

The anger in the monster’s voice is loud and raw. Even though the two guards standing before her know that it’s not directed at them, they can’t help but flinch.

“He’s gone, Captain.” The first, a towering figure in full armor, shifts on his feet. His partner stays quiet. “Dogamy found dust near his station.”

“Humans?” The Captain’s voice is still choked with rage, but there’s an undertone of resignation. She stands up, fists clenching at her sides.

“Probably. We sent Dogamy and Dogaressa to, like, sniff them out.”

“Good.” The Captain composes herself enough to face her officers. “Whoever they are, I’ll make sure justice is served.”

She grins, hungry and sharp, like a shark who’s just smelled blood. 

“There’s nowhere that punk can hide where I won’t find ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading my first chapter. I know "Undertale zombie story" is not a new genre, but I hope I can make a semi-fresh (or at least not _completely_ stale) addition to that category.
> 
> Anyway, this is also my first Undertale shipfic. So feedback is always welcome :D


	2. A Toast to You (and Your Stalkers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you get drunk and your prospective murderer finds an ally.

Come afternoon, the camp is in a frenzy. Monster kills bigger than a Froggit are a worthy cause for celebration, after all. You’re not quite used to being the center of attention, but hey, at least it’s not because you broke the rules or something.

You woke up around noon and stumbled outside to a cheering throng of campers. The sun was glaring down on you, which was unsettling, because you rarely sleep in; but after such a restless night, you definitely needed it. It took you a second to blink the sleep out of your eyes and register that the cheering was directed at _you_ , and it’s been a blur from there.

The camp isn’t too huge, just a few hundred people, but it’s still big enough that half of the people coming up to congratulate you are unfamiliar. Your circle of friends got lost in the crowd a damn long time ago, but the strangers aren’t _that_ bad. Helps that a few of them have handed you beers.

Needless to say, you’re pretty quickly getting into a celebratory mood yourself.

You _did_ kill a monster, after all. This is the kinda thing people used to write legends and ballads about.

“Hey, mutt-slayer! Want another one?” A guy you’ve never seen before in your life waves a bottle at you. You grin.

“Don’t mind if I do, good sir!” It’s been awhile since you’ve done any drinking- name-brand beer is a dwindling resource now, after all- and okay, maybe you’re getting a little drunker than you probably should.

But hey, you just killed a monster! You’re on top of the world, baby!

* * *

A ripple in the water is the only sign that there’s something below the surface. The river is deep and calm, perfect for stealthy travel, and the occasional whitewater oxygenates the current enough that Undyne doesn't have to surface just to breathe. Almost makes her nostalgic for Waterfall.

Dogamy and Dogaressa came back around dawn. Apparently, the scent of humans was strong enough to suggest a group- and unsurprisingly, they headed back to that big camp.

The river splits ahead, and Undyne surfaces just enough to get her eye out of the water and pinpoint her route. Immediately, she hears distant yelling.

Sounds celebratory. If those humans are _partying_ right now, partying after _killing_ someone-

She has to resist the urge to jump out, summon a spear, and run in there. She slides back down under the water.

According to the dogs, they’ll be able to recognize the four-or-so specific humans that actually did the killing when they smell them. Where Undyne comes into that is finding them a way into the camp without being seen. Then, once they figure out who _specifically_ murdered her sentry…

Well, that’s gonna be the fun part.

* * *

You lean back against the tree, grinning. “Then- _hic_ \- then, it turned around. And it was, like, a _dog-man_. Seriously.”

“Whoa.” One of the dudes (you swear he told you his name a few minutes ago, it’s on the tip of your tongue) shakes his head. “For real? That’s insane.”

“For real. It had _fuckin’ hands_ and _fuckin’ knives_ , can you believe that?” You’ve told this story probably seven or eight times in the past hour. You’re losing track, especially as your surroundings become increasingly fuzzy with booze.

“Daaamn.” He’s obviously not doing much better than you, but it hasn’t stopped him from cracking open another beer. “You’re like… one of those… werewolf slayers, dude.”

That resonates deeper than it should. “Yeah, I’m real- _hic_ \- real cool.”

You feel badass. A mix of alcohol and compliments have pretty much washed away all that weird guilt or unease or whatever from yesterday in a nice little stream of celebration.

The guy is still muttering about how cool you are, and silently, you completely agree.

* * *

The sound of a party is getting closer and closer. It also annoys Undyne more every time she surfaces and has to hear it. Everyone and their mom knows that humans are bloodthirsty, but it still sucks hard to hear them cheering for needless death.

She listens for the direction of the sounds. Due north, seems like. Helps that this forest is so quiet. Good for pinpointing things.

“hey.”

If there’s one thing Undyne never does, it’s get startled. Try and tell her otherwise, and you’re in for a good goddamn beating.

So she definitely doesn’t jump at the voice behind her.

Sans is sitting on the bank, perpetually shit-eating grin looking a little brighter than usual.

“What are you doing here?” Undyne frowns at her very wayward sentry. “Your station is back in Newest Home, punk.”

“needed a change of pace. ‘sides, paps has it handled over there.”

Well, at least he’s not sleeping on the job this time.

“You could’ve warned me. My mission’s serious. No messing around- got it?” She gives him her Serious Business glare, just to make sure the point sinks in.

He shrugs. “heard what happened.”

At least he knows to take the important stuff semi-seriously. Undyne sighs. “Yeah. It’s not going great here.”

“looks like the humans are havin’ a good time.” Sans’ smile doesn’t budge, considering he has no muscles with which to control it, but his eyes darken considerably.

“Yeah. They are.” Undyne scowls. “Are you gonna help me change that or not?”

Sans’ eyes start to light up again. “i dunno undyne, seems like you got this covered. maybe swim around for a few more hours, that’ll really show the-”

Again, Undyne shoots him the deepest glare she can muster. Getting her sentry to get serious is never easy, but she’s pretty good at it at this point.

“sure, i’ll help.” 

* * *

You fix your stare into the middle distance, mentally psyching yourself up to get off your ass.

But your ass is so _comfy_. Your drunk, tired brain really, really doesn’t want to abandon your spot.

The party is winding down, though. People have guard stations to man, and you’ve been called over to the campfire, probably for another toast before they leave. You have to get up…

You push yourself to your feet, leaning against the tree to wait out the dizziness. A wave of nausea washes through you.

Standing up was a bad decision.

Someone steps up to you, and you squint until you can make out the dude from earlier. He grins and offers you a hand, and the two of you stumble to the fire together.

“Hey! The camper of the hour!” Someone yells out from somewhere (it’s all _very_ blurry right now, especially in the sunset haze). You're pushed to the center of the circle, and you have to make a concerted effort not to stumble right into the damn fire. The person shouts again once you have your balance. “Raise a damn glass for the mutt-slayer!”

Everyone cheers again, and you grin at another wave of celebration. The shadows around the campfire dance as everyone raises a glass. You squint at an especially strange shadow shifting between the trees... eh. Just a trick of the light and alcohol.

* * *

The humans give another round of cheers. Odd decision, considering it's approaching nighttime in a zombie-filled forest.

They can do what they want. Sans is interested in one particular human. 

It's pretty obvious which one is the center of attention. They're standing near the fire, right in the middle of the circle of raised bottles and drunk humans. They don't look too good themself, actually.

Someone in the crown calls out, "Raise a damn glass for the mutt-slayer!" It's muffled almost immediately by cheering, but Sans feels his eyelights dim nonetheless.

He's not the type to run in and fight anyone. That's more Undyne's shtick, and he likes to think he's more chill- but it still really _rattles his bones_ to hear people cheering for a murderer.

The human of the hour meets his eyes for a brief moment across the fire, and he takes that as his cue to find a shortcut back to his boss.

* * *

Undyne taps an armored boot against the rocks as she waits for her sentry to get the hell back. She was gonna sneak up to the camp herself, but he made the annoyingly convincing argument that his shortcuts are “a lot stealthier” and “also cooler” or some shit.

Whatever. Awaiting an employee’s report is just as cool, right?

Another cheer goes up in the distance. The flicker of a fire is barely visible through the trees, becoming clearer as night falls.

There’s a flash, and Sans pops into existence in front of her. She raises her eyebrow. “Well?”

“i think i might have a lead.” He stops. Is he really gonna make her…

“Yeah, okay then, _what’s the lead?_ ” It comes out in a hiss, because stealth is still a thing to think about.

“well, i got there in the middle of a toast to the ‘monster slayer’.” The amusement is entirely gone from his tone.

Undyne’s metaphorical blood is boiling. “Can we get to them now?”

He shakes his head. “nah. it’s a party, and they’re in the middle. we should wait.”

Undyne grits her teeth, turns, and heads back to the river. It may be smart to wait, but inaction still feels shitty. 

Hopefully there’ll be a zombie or two on the way back for her to take her anger out on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow! People are reading this! Thank you so much! I hope I can continue to keep this interesting haha.
> 
> I also don't have a beta, so please be a little gentle about my occasionally shitty grammar lol


	3. A Beautiful Day to Get Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a totally normal walk in the woods.

You don’t get to sleep in much today. In fact, you wake up before the light can even shine through your tent, headache pounding at the back of your brain. 

You stumble out of the tent in search of water, rubbing at your temple. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, staining the campsite in pale morning light.

It’s a damn mess. Bottles and cans all over, a lone, hand-painted banner half-hanging from a tree, fire burnt out in the center of camp. The apocalypse really hasn’t done much to change the human tendency to litter.

You zero in on the tap- you didn’t miss any part of being hungover, but the dry-throat thirst is probably your least favorite. It’s a relief that no one is around, because you drink water like a preschooler who barely knows not to put their mouth on the water fountain. It’s cool and relieving, and once you’ve splashed some on your face, you can almost pretend you aren’t a tired, hungover mess.

Until another bout of pain stabs at your temple. Patrol this morning is gonna be a nightmare.

Semi-refreshed and as ready as you're ever gonna be, you head for the armory across camp. As you walk you busy yourself attempting to remember exactly what happened yesterday. It's fuzzy, and the specifics are lost in a slurry of beer and laughter and dancing shadows, but you don’t recall doing anything too stupid. Just some drunk, exaggerated storytelling and a lot of drinking games.

Basically, a college party. You’re not sure whether you missed those or not.

Footsteps and voices sound behind you as the rest of the morning shift starts to wake up. The sun is over the treetops now, casting a soft white light across the tents and cabins. Almost time to meet the others and hope they won’t notice the bags under your eyes.

* * *

Your patrol is waiting for you at the trailhead. Morning patrols are trail clears- the pathways through the forest are the only remnants of the national park this place used to be, and they’re also the easiest access point for zombies. Today, it’s your group that’s in charge of making sure none of them are moving along the trails near camp.

The sign at the head of this path used to say Middle Fork Trail. Now, it says Middle ~~Fork~~ FART Trail, because half the campers here have preteen brains.

Cory waves you over. He and Morgan look well-rested. Either they hold their alcohol well, or they were smart yesterday and stayed out of it. Spencer looks miserable, though. Thank god you’re not the only one.

"Hey, _mutt-slayer_." Right. Of course the nickname's gotten back to your group. You grin. At least the compliments didn't end with the celebration.

"G'morning." You take position in front of Spencer as the four of you amble onto the path. 

“Is it, though?” Spencer pauses to yawn.

“Absolutely beautiful so far.” You can be chipper if it means getting on Spencer’s nerves.

Cory rolls his eyes. “C’mon. The undead won’t wait for you to exchange pleasantries.”

And with that, you’re off.

* * *

The woods are gorgeous. By the time the trail narrows your group into a single-file line, the tone of the sunlight is just starting to fade from white to gold. The leaves filter it into dappled pockets of shade. It would be downright picturesque if not for the constant headache splitting your temples and the slowly returning thirst.

It’s also been unusually quiet so far. Normally you would’ve seen a few zombies straggling up the path by now, easy pickings for the group. Occasionally, a larger group of the things will gather, and the patrol'll be a little more challenging. But today, you've seen absolutely no trace the 

Good days do happen occasionally, but they’re never _this_ good. It feels like something’s up. But you’re probably being paranoid, right?

The sounds of birds and your own footsteps are the only things keeping the quiet from becoming unsettling. It’s hard to focus completely on anything except for your headache, but every ounce of focus you can spare is on your surroundings.

You can't dismiss it anymore. Your instincts haven’t failed you yet, and right now, they’re telling you that something is not right.

Your group reaches the trail’s loopback before spotting any kind of zombie, and the one you do find is pretty much incapacitated on its own anyway. The four of you stop to watch it move as well as its half-decomposed arms can drag it before Morgan lines up the shot. It faceplants into the dirt and goes still. Spencer sighs loudly and pointedly.

“Normally we’d be seeing a lot more action. What’s going on?”

“Dunno.” Morgan eyes the trees behind where the zombie came from, probably wondering why the gunshot didn’t alert more of them. “Way too quiet out here.”

Everyone’s been thinking the same thing, but hearing it verbalized is another matter altogether. 

“What’s the plan?” You address the group at large, half-hoping the plan will be to head back to camp and let the next patrol deal with this creepy forest shit.

“We should finish the patrol. Make sure they aren’t just grouping up somewhere to swarm us.” Cory's usually the calmest out of the group, and this doesn't seem to be an exception.

“Finish. Got it.” Morgan sounds perturbed. Silently, you agree. “Lead the way, then.”

Cory turns and heads off into the woods. You try to shake the looming feeling that something bad is about to happen before following.

* * *

Every step seems to make the silence more oppressive. Sometimes, you think you see something moving out of the corner of your eye, or think you hear more than four sets of footsteps. _It’s just the shadows shifting. We’re the only people out here._

You repeat that in your head until your headache starts to flare up again, then set your focus on scanning the trees. 

You’re focusing on the outline of a boulder in the distance when Cory speaks up. “Whoa.”

You almost walk right into Morgan’s back, catch yourself, and try to figure out what has him freaked out.

Dead zombies are one thing. Those happen all the time- wandering through the woods until they decompose too much to move, or getting shot by patrols. You don’t blink twice at bones along the path anymore. It’s pretty commonplace in a zombie apocalypse.

What’s not commonplace is zombies who have obviously been recently, violently killed. This one is laying across the path, limbs askew. You can't tell what gender it was, how old, anything. Its back is a mess of gross, congealed zombie blood, its head is pulp, and you generally want to vomit.

No one talks for a second, and you know it’s because they’re figuring out the same thing you are.

The gashes are very distinctly not gunshots, or toothmarks. Something big, sharp, maybe even a little blunt. Looks like a javelin or spear.

Only one creature currently in these woods uses spears, and it’s the goddamn river monster. It's never been sighted this close to camp, and it’s especially never gone hunting this close to camp.

The monsters are getting closer.

“What do we do now?” Spencer’s voice is small, like talking at normal volume will bring the monster of the hour crawling out of the river.

“We should head back. This is big.” Cory peels his eyes away from the double-dead corpse and turns to face the team. You are absolutely on board with that plan. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

It’s nice not to be so close to the rear of the line on the way back, even if you still feel like you're being watched from the darkness.

Of course, the walk is also a lot more urgent now. There’s a tense feeling, like when you used to play horror games in your dark apartment before everything went down. Like if you turn around, there’ll be a monster standing there to tear you apart.

The unsettled feeling from when you killed the dog monster is back, full force. What if they know you did it? What if they’re coming for you?

Fuck. You’re spiralling. Spencer’s shoulders are stiff in front of you, and from the way he raises his gun at every sound, you can tell he’s spiralling too. Your hangover is long forgotten. There’ll be time for a headache when you are safely in your tent. 

The group powerwalk slows down a little bit once you’ve put about a mile between you and the dead zombie. The atmosphere just _barely_ defuses. You still catch yourself holding your breath every once in a while, but there’s no more panic.

Which is why, when the other three stop in their tracks, it takes you a second to follow their gazes into the trees.

It also takes you a second to raise your gun, once you realize that there’s definitely something moving in the shadows.

That extra second of reaction time might be why you don’t have time to fire before a humanoid something appears in front of you. Your teammates are yelling, but you’re paralyzed as you glimpse white and blue and a very toothy smile. 

That’s all you have time to register before the forest warps, lurches, and disappears.

* * *

You land on your ass, mid-curse. Your hands immediately grab at the floor beneath you as you realize that you’re in an enclosed wooden space. You move to lift your gun, but your hands are empty. Shit. You must have dropped it when the fabric of reality decided to go all bendy on you.

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself as you stand. Wooden walls, wooden floor. How did you get here?

Your head is spinning. Combined with the headache from earlier, you have to take a second to steady yourself before you turn around-

And immediately let out the most undignified shriek you’ve ever made when you come face to face (skull?) with a short little motherfucking humanoid goddamn skeleton-thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still so shocked and grateful that this is getting views! This has been very fun to write so far, and I'm excited to continue. Here's a little update as things start to pick up.


	4. A Steadily Worsening Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've never been a prisoner before. You'd hoped to go a lifetime without the experience.
> 
> But hey, there's a first time for everything.

You stumble backwards, grabbing frantically at the knife in your belt. Across the bars (because of course you’re in a fucking cage), the skeleton just stands there, same toothy grin pasted on his skull.

It occurs to you that he probably can’t _not_ smile, what with being made of bone and all. The ridiculousness of the situation almost undercuts the adrenaline and fear, for just a moment.

Then it’s back to panic.

“Do _not_ come near me, monster,” you hiss, holding the knife in front of you. You press your back to the wood and brandish your blade at the bars. 

Now that you’re not being yanked through time and space or getting jumpscared out of your skin, you can get a good look at your kidnapper. 

It’s a skeleton. That’s established. A skeleton with clothes, too- and not only clothes, but a hoodie and basketball shorts. It's pretty short, actually. Its head reaches your shoulder level.

Somehow, you expected the teleporting skeleton from the recent sightings to be more physically imposing, but this... you wouldn’t even be terribly intimidated right now if it hadn’t just... well. Teleported you. 

“Where did you bring me?” You hold the knife steady.

“i don’t think you’re in a position to try and question me here.” It has a deep, lazy voice, made more annoying by a distinctively smug tone. By the depth of voice and the choice of attire, you'd guess this is a male monster. You normally wouldn't want to assume, but this is your kidnapper. You aren't exactly trying to afford him the utmost respect.

“Tell me. Where the _hell_ am I?” The skeleton’s strange eyesocket-eyes seem to brighten at your question. You hate monsters in general, but this one is quickly becoming your least favorite.

“what, you couldn’t tell by the bars?” He chuckles. You narrow your eyes. “you’re in a cell.”

Captain Obvious looks real pleased with himself. Holding back your fear-fueled irritation, you take a moment weigh your options. You could sit here until he tries to question you, hope he pulls you out of the cell for interrogation, and make a run for it. You could try and kick down the walls. You could attack now and hope to land a hit on the asshole who captured you.

The skeleton speaks again. “no more questions? thought you were gonna interrogate me.”

You make up your mind in that moment and lunge, swinging your knife through the bars. It swishes through the air, quick and deadly-

And whiffs past the skeleton as he sidesteps. You pull your arm back and lunge again, and again, you hit air. You move to try again, but the little asshole steps back out of range and chuckles.

“i don’t think it’s gonna work, but feel free to keep trying.” He’s so smug, and it’s so getting on your nerves.

“Just stand still, you little _shit!_ ” You practically snarl. You haven’t been this angry at anyone in ages, and it shows. You should probably be trying to sweet talk your way out of this, but this monster is infuriating.

You step back, breathing heavy. The knife falls to your side.

“done yet?” You don’t deign to respond beyond a deepened glare. “cool. how about you chill out here while i find the boss?”

You cross your arms.

“that was a hypothetical question. you really don’t have much of a choice.” You’re opening your mouth to respond, probably to tell him he’s a shithead, when he pops out of existence. You snap your mouth shut.

“Little fucker,” you mutter under your breath. The anger melts away, leaving you alone in a cage with the realization that you’ve been captured by monsters.

Past the bars, there’s just the cloth inside of a tent. You’re probably in the middle of their damn camp.

The skeleton said he was getting “the boss”. Whoever the boss is, they can’t be friendly. They probably know you killed that dog-thing the other day. Hell, monsters can probably smell monster dust or some other freaky shit. Maybe they have UV vision to see trace amounts of it on clothes.

You knew there would be consequences, but consequences like this?

You don't know what to do. Everyone knows monsters are… well, monsters. If you don’t kill them first, they’ll kill you. Common knowledge. And you’ve just been caught by at least two of the savages.

* * *

You get to stew in the tent for what feels like hours before there’s a flash of movement and the skeleton pops back into reality in front of you.

You don’t jump this time, to your credit. You raise your head to glare at him again. “What do you want?”

"why don't you ask the captain that question?" He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. You blink. Captain? Is there someone outside? 

Then the tent flaps part, and a tall figure ducks into the space.

They're blue, covered in glistening scales, and protected from the neck down in silver armor.

It’s the river monster. Up close, you can tell that this one is battle-hardened. Scars pepper its scales, and one of the fins on the sides of its head has a chunk taken out of it. The eye not covered in an eyepatch is yellow and glaring, and it stops close enough to the bars that you can see the edges of a scar peeking out from under the eyepatch.

This is a monster that’s been fighting for years. Hell, you even make a habit of staying away from _humans_ who are this battle-worn. Dealing with a warrior-monster was not on your to-do list for the day, that’s for damn sure.

“Human.” The thing’s voice is deep, but definitely feminine. You catch a glimpse of jagged, knifelike teeth as it speaks. “My sentry tells me you’ve been pretty insolent for a prisoner.”

If the skeleton didn't quite live up to your expectations, this thing sure does. You find yourself at a real loss for words for the first time today.

“You killed one of us,” it (she?) continues, “and you think you can just STAND there and wave your little knife at us like you have ANY high ground here?”

Where the skeleton just pissed you off, the river monster freaks you out. The best course of action is probably to backtrack, backtrack, backtrack, and hope the monsters are feeling merciful or stupid enough today to buy it. “Listen, I really didn’t know that’s why you grabbed me. This is all just a big misunderst-"

“Bullshit.” The river monster’s mouth twists into a scowl, her eye narrowing. “You know EXACTLY why you’re here, murderer.”

You stand a little straighter at that word and cross your arms over your chest. Isn’t that a little dramatic? You just killed a mutt on patrol. Practically self defense. That's not _murder_. “Oh, come on. I didn’t _murder_ anyone-”

“Shut up.” Suddenly, even as you start to raise the knife again, you find yourself staring down the tip of a glowing, blue spear. You inhale sharply, step back.

“Here’s the deal.” She grins sharply at you down the length of the weapon, fangs and eye gleaming. “Figure out why we shouldn’t kill you, and if you’re convincing enough, we might not.”

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth, but your mind is completely blank. This is wrong. Everything you know about monsters says you should have been skewered by now. 

The surprise must be apparent on your face, because the captain’s sneer deepens. The spear dissipates in a shower of blue sparks. 

“You have until tomorrow morning.” She turns and strides out of the tent, leaving you alone with the skeleton.

Your knees feel weak, but you refuse to let a monster see that. You stand in defiant silence as he sizes you up.

“better start coming up with something.” He heads for the exit as well. “the captain’s not really known for being patient or merciful.”

He strolls out, leaving you alone to figure out how to argue yourself off of death row.

* * *

You wonder whether the camp is looking for you yet. Whether there’s a chance in hell they’ll find you.

The skeleton zip-zapped you here, so there’s no trail for them to trace. The river monster moves through the rivers, of course, so you don’t think they could track her either.

Eventually, the light filtering through the tent turns gold with evening. That’s your only concept of time right now- it really blends together when all you have is a cage in a tent and your own thoughts for company.

Speaking of your thoughts, they’re a mess. You only have a few hours left to come up with an argument for your own survival.

And your survival is somewhat important.

Honestly, you’ve been pretty lucky for the last few years. As lucky as someone can be in the apocalypse, at least. Surviving the initial clusterfuck, finding a trustworthy group almost immediately, joining an established camp- you’ve done relatively well for yourself.

So why did the luck have to run out?

The light fades, and your prison is plunged into darkness. The camp outside is completely silent. The monsters must be getting their beauty sleep to prepare for your potential execution.

There's no way you'll be able to sleep tonight. Your headache is making its triumphant return, although now it’s less of a hangover symptom and more of a stress and fear symptom. You've thought and rethought about your plan more times than you can count, nitpicking every little detail.

Tomorrow might be your last day alive. Your arguments, as sound as they may seem to you, could get you absolutely destroyed.

And so you sit in the dark and wait to be judged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure, as much as Undyne (kinda justifiably) hates the reader, she would've learned from Frisk not to kill every human she meets before at least hearing them out.
> 
> And Sans is mostly here to piss them off.


	5. The Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Day is upon you. Prepare to be judged, and all that crap.

You greet the morning with a groan as light finally starts to filter into the tent again. You’ve tried valiantly to fall asleep, with no luck. Seems like you’re going to have to make strong, coherent arguments on nothing but adrenaline and a prayer.

You’re tired, your head still hurts, and you really, really have to pee- which you’re definitely not doing in your tiny-ass cage.

Your sense of time has gotten fuzzier with each passing minute, so you’re not sure how long it is before the tent opens again. You jerk upright, heart pounding as a tall, armored shadow enters the tent-

And you relax every so slightly when you realize that it’s not the captain. The shoulders are too broad, and the rabbit-eared helmet is a dead giveaway.

You have to keep your guard up, though. Just because this isn’t the captain doesn’t mean it’s friendly. No monster is your friend.

It stops a few feet away from the bars (just out of range of your knife, unfortunately) and rests a gloved hand on the hilt of its sheathed sword.

“Captain Undyne will be back in, like, half an hour. Be ready by then.” Such a dramatic announcement would have made you laugh if it weren't being delivered by some armored were-rabbit monstrosity. You wonder vaguely if every monster in this camp (except for that little skeleton) is an armored, hulking menace.

Before you can ask who Undyne is, it’s hurrying its way out of the tent. Your guess is that unless there’s some other captain around here, Undyne’s probably the river monster.

You file that away in your mind with all the other information you'll give your camp if you make it out of this thing alive.

* * *

Every second you have to wait gets you more stressed, and come to think of it, the captain’s probably making you wait intentionally to get under your skin. You wouldn’t put it past her to try and psych you out.

It’s almost a relief when the familiar fish-woman-thing herself steps into the tent. She’s followed by the skeleton and two armored monsters you assume are the rest of her underlings. You recognize the rabbithead from earlier.

“Human.” Undyne summons one of those spears that seem to be her trademark, and holds it casually at her side. “This is your last chance.”

You stand. “Um. Right.”

The skeleton stares at you from Captain Undyne’s side. You very pointedly avoid his gaze as you get your thoughts together.

“I know you must be pretty upset about your sentry.” The captain's eyebrow raises, which is probably not a good sign. “But, I mean, he had weapons. And magic. And we were all freaked out.”

The captain seems to consider for a moment before speaking. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The spear raises just a bit, and you hurry to respond. “No, no, I’ve got more.”

The spear drops back to her side.

It’s lucky that you did speech and debate in high school, because you’re pretty sure only that practice is keeping your arguments from falling out of your head.

“My camp. I mean. The camp I live with. They really, really want to hunt you guys down.” You step forward and shoot the captain your best ‘I want to help you’ look. “If you kill me, or keep me here too long, they _will_ attack. I can guarantee it.”

There might be a little bit of a very subtle threat in there. But. Uh. If anyone asks, you’ll say you only worded it ominously because you were under duress.

Undyne’s frowning now. The skeleton’s eyes look a little darker.

“Is that all you have?” Her voice is low, and her grip on the spear is tight. Everything rides on this decision, and the odds are decidedly not in your favor.

You nod. She seems to deliberate for a second before addressing you one last time.

“We need to talk." She gestures at the skeleton to come with her and starts to stride back outside. She turns back to you first, though. "If you try ANYTHING funny, you get a date with my spear.” 

You nod, making a point of _not_ touching your knife. 

The captain and the skeleton leave again.

* * *

“they had a point, y’know.” Sans leans against a tree as Undyne continues pacing back and forth.

Alphys always likes to say that “w-well, at least pacing is a better anger management strategy than killing things!”

And Undyne’s anger is in need of some _serious_ managing right now. They were supposed to cower and grovel. They were supposed to beg for mercy, and Undyne was ready to dramatically refuse it.

But they did have a point. And goddamnit, they just _had_ to threaten her while making it.

“Yeah, they did. But what are we supposed to do, just let ‘em tell the other humans all about us?”

Sans shrugs. “we definitely can’t kill them.”

Undyne swore a long time ago that no monster would go unavenged under her watch. Since then, whether it be a zombie or a human, every monster-killer that’s crossed her path has died a violent death.

“NGAH!” She balls her hands into fists. “If we kill them, the humans chase us out of here. If we let them go, they help the humans chase us out of here anyway!”

Sans watches quietly as the gears turn in her head. 

She’d been hoping to finish this human off, maybe send a message to the others in the camp that she is not to be fucked with.

But maybe… just maybe... the closing of that door is the opening of another.

* * *

You sit as patiently as one can when you can just barely hear the sounds of your potential executioners deliberating outside.

The guards at the door stand there silently. Occasionally, they exchange glances. You get the feeling they know each other pretty well. Honestly, these monsters must be a tight-knit little _family_. They probably bond over murder every weekend.

Speaking of murder, the captain looks ready to kill you as soon as she steps back in. You scramble to your feet. 

This is it. This decides your future. Hell, this decides whether you even have one. The air seems sucked out of the room. The guards in the back stand at attention.

“Alright, _human_.” The venom in her tone gives you a very, very bad feeling about her next few sentences. “We’ve made a decision.”

She probably only pauses to increase the dramatic effect. You would be pissed if you weren’t so nervous.

“You’re right. We can’t kill you.”

You’re already bracing yourself for the bite of a magical spear to the face when the words register. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding. You’re going to live. You're going to _live_. All of the tension rushes out of you, even as you try to keep the sheer relief from showing in your expression.

That is, until the captain has to go ahead and say the one thing that could fuck the moment up.

“But we’re definitely not letting you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! For some reason, it was on this section that my writing skills decided to fail me. On the bright side, though, the next chapter should be ready in a few days, and then I plan to get back on a pretty regular schedule.


	6. Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a horrible few days- and not just for you, either. 
> 
> Your camp has just made a very strange discovery, indeed.

“ _What?_ ” You grab the bars. "What do you mean?!" 

The captain smirks. "Knowing humans, you're gonna run right back to your little camp and spill as much as you know to your friends." 

You open your mouth to tell her that you don't know _that_ much. Not enough to do damage, at least. But she beats you to it.

"You know that there are at least four of us. You've seen some of our magic. You know my name, thanks to him," She shoots an annoyed glance at rabbit-head behind her, "and you can describe all of us." 

You close your mouth. Fuck. The confirmation that Undyne is her name doesn't matter anymore, because you'll never get to go home and tell anyone about it.

You're going to be their prisoner for as long as they want to keep you here. Considering how disappointed Undyne seemed to feel about not being able to kill you, it's probably going to be a long, long time.

If the last day was hell, you can't imagine _years_ of sitting in this tent, waiting for Undyne to come in and interrogate you or the skeleton to come in and mess with you. It all catches up, and your head spins.

Your usual snark fails you spectacularly as you stare at your captors. For the first time since he came back inside, you glance at the skeleton and notice his stupid smirk. You want to scream at them or attack them again, or _something_ , but the tiny rational part of your brain reminds you that they could always reconsider their decision about killing you if you do something stupid.

Not only are you their prisoner, but your life is still in their hands.

"Eventually, my friends will find you." This is your last resort. "You can't stay hidden forever." 

"Glad you reminded me, punk." Undyne's smirk widens. "We leave the area this afternoon, so get ready to get moving." 

* * *

As soon as everyone's gone, you slump back against the wall. Unless the others reach you by this afternoon (and you're not even sure what time it is now), you're going to be gone. Back to whatever base the monsters are hiding out in nowadays, you guess.

Back before the end of the world, that was Ebott City. But Ebott City was pretty much the first to get destroyed, and everyone without a death wish (including, you assume, the monsters) cleared out of there. Most cities are still too overrun to risk camping out in, so they've probably stayed away.

From the various drifters that come and go from your camp, you've heard about supposed monster settlements everywhere from California to Japan to Syberia. But it's never more than distant hearsay, so you take it with a grain of salt.

Long story short, you have no goddamn idea where they might be taking you.

All you do know about being kidnapped by monsters is that no one they take comes back. Some of the speculations you've heard are pretty out there- they secretly eat human flesh to sustain themselves, or they have labs under their settlement where they turn prisoners into zombies. You aren't a paranoid person, so you've assumed that monsters just skip taking prisoners and go straight to killing people.

But now, sitting in a box, waiting to be shipped to who-knows-where, it all seems plausible. What if you're going to be experimented on? What if your soul gets stolen? What if the monsters are actually aliens and you're about to get probed-

Okay. So maybe nothing _that_ insane. But you've always been pretty damn good at catastrophizing, and now is no exception.

You'll just have to wait and see if your wildest fears come true.

So you wait. And wait. And wait some more, because the monsters have been established to give zero shits about your personal comfort. It's after what seems like a century that "afternoon" arrives with the return of the skeleton.

You expected a little more fanfare- maybe an armed escort and some handcuffs. Skeledick here (listen, you were never very good at nicknames) doesn't seem like he should be trusted with the transport of prisoners. 

“hey.” The skeleton gives you a lazy wave. How does he manage to make every move he makes look so half-assed? It infuriates you beyond reason. 

"What's going on?" You stand, arms crossed, ready to make this as hard for him as possible.

"we're going on a road trip." He fiddles with the padlock, and the bars swing open. You blink. Suddenly, the barrier between you and the monster is gone. The barrier between you and _freedom_ is gone.

You feel more uneasy than anything, and it dissolves all of your conviction. 

“well?” He stuffs one hand back into a hoodie pocket and gestures at the tent flaps with the other.

You step, slowly, out of the cage. This has to be a test, or a trick, or something. No way they'd trust you to walk yourself to their base after they were ready to kill you a few hours ago.

You eye the skeleton warily. He watches you back. It's so goddamn hard to read his expression without any facial muscles to interpret.

"undyne's waiting outside, and she wants to get a move on." He heads out, and you hesitantly follow. It's time. Now or never. If your friends don't save you now, they'll lose their chance forever.

* * *

Needless to say, the camp is in a state of panic. A monster capable of not only teleportation but _broad-daylight abduction_ is a threat to even the most experienced survivors, and figuring out what happened to the person who just got kidnapped is of the highest priority.

Two patrols have already been sent to follow the rivers in hopes of finding the river monster's route to its hideout. No luck. The whole camp stayed up last night, trying to come up with a pattern between sightings of monsters in the area. No luck.

Returning to the "murdered" zombie might not be a good idea under normal circumstances, but it's the only option the camp has to try and find the river monster (and hopefully the skeleton along with it). A potential trail of downed zombies is the only possibility left, and it's still a long shot.

The group passes some distant boulders, barely visible through the increasingly dense trees. Morgan, the only member of the original patrol who felt up to making this journey, is starting to feel some serious deja vu here. She's not the superstitious type, but this feels like a bad omen. If what happened two days ago happens again, if someone else gets taken on her watch...

She mentally pinches herself. Now is not the _time_. Her group member and friend is out there, and losing hope now would be the best way to fail them. Besides, the zombie should be right around here. There are splotches of that gross, clumpy zombie blood in the grass. She signals the group to stop.

No zombie. There should be a decomposing corpse, distinctly flayed into something resembling ground beef, lying across the trail right here.

If the body were just inexplicably gone, it would still be a loss, but Morgan could chalk it up to hungry animals. It happens sometimes. Hungry animals, however, couldn't have left that trail of bloody human footprints that she can see meandering off into the woods. 

It's almost as though that very, very dead zombie just... got up and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter this week, as promised. I also made some minor adjustments to the summary/tags because my brain will never let me be satisfied with them.
> 
> In terms of the reader's name, I'm not sure yet whether I want to refer to it using something like Y/N or _____, so I've been trying to avoid having characters mention it so far. I'm probably gonna go back later and rewrite some things once I figure out my angle for the rest of the story, but please let me know if my current system is way too confusing or something (can you tell I'm new to this lol)


	7. The Worst Road Trip Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go on a road trip," they say. "It'll be fun," they say.
> 
> They've obviously never gone on one with their monster kidnappers.

After a day and half inside, the sunlight sears at your eyes. You blink furiously until your vision clears enough to reveal the camp you've been stuck in.

It's small, but there are still more tents than you expected. You'd sort of assumed that only the four monsters you've met so far (plus the one you killed, apparently) were staying here. Standing around Undyne, though, is a small crowd of armored monsters. 

None of them look very happy to see you. You spot two dog monsters- it must be a fairly common species, then. They're a different breed of dog from the one you killed, but they are similarly bipedal and heavily armed. With axes this time. Lucky you.

You recognize the two armored guards from earlier today as they walk past. You turn to watch them start to take down the tent you were in. Hell, it looks like the rest of the campsite’s been broken down already.

It’s sort of funny to see a pair of oh-so-magical monsters taking down a tent with their bare (or gloved) hands.

As always, Undyne manages to be the most threatening monster here. The glare is getting a bit familiar, but that doesn't mean it can't still make you squirm. This is shaping up to be a very unpleasant experience.

You weigh the pros and cons of making a break for it into the trees. Pros include a brief taste of freedom and a few glorious moments away from the aura of hostility you’re being steeped in. Cons include the likelihood of being teleported back almost immediately and the distinct possibility of a spear to the skull.

You conclude that staying put is the strategic move. For now. Your big freedom dash has to come eventually, just maybe not when it has almost no chance of success.

Undyne, apparently done with silently glaring, steps forward. “You’re being cooperative.”

She’s smirking. Yesterday, you probably would have done something very hot headed in response. Today, you just cross your arms across your chest and bite out, “You haven’t given me much of a choice.”

“What, you thought this would be some cushy vacation?” Undyne’s like… like a really intense, shitty gym teacher. Everything she says is a challenge, except you know that if you meet the challenge, you’re in for a metaphorical trip to the principal's office. And in this case, that means death by impalement.

Undyne seems to take your petulant silence as a cue to talk more.

“Let me TELL you what’s going to happen.” Her gleaming yellow teeth are far too close for your comfort. You almost miss having a set of bars protecting you. “First, you’re going to give me that knife.”

You bristle. Give up your only line of defense to a _monster_? Does she think you’re stupid, crazy, or both?

“Hell no.” You rest a protective hand over the pocket where you’ve stashed the knife, eyes narrowing. 

Behind her, the axe-wielding dogs lift their weapons in unison.

“Fine. But try ANYTHING and you’ll regret it.” Undyne turns on her heel. “We’re leaving.” 

You didn’t expect it to be that easy. As you blink in confusion, the whole posse of freaks starts walking away. You turn around, confused. The tent they were keeping you in is gone. All that’s left is the eternally smug skeleton.

“welp.” He stands there. “looks like it’s time to head out.”

You wait for him to start walking. He doesn’t budge. 

“Well, what’s the holdup?” What is with today and awkward standoffs?

“listen, buddy. i’m here to make sure you don’t run off.” He pulls a bony hand out of his pocket and gestures at the backs of Undyne’s group. “you first.”

Grudgingly, you start walking.

* * *

Even with all the bags and tents, the group moves fast. Undyne does seem like the type to sprint from place to place, but even the heavily armed ones keep a brisk pace.

The skeleton doesn’t pull his teleportation. You’ve been wondering about that. If he can zap people places, why doesn’t he just… do that now? He trails a bit behind the group, eyes never leaving you, resolutely trudging forward.

Wherever the path thins, Undyne’s spears carve through trees and rocks. Magical spears certainly seem more efficient than the hatchets you’re accustomed to.

When the first group of zombies on the trail notices you, the spears make equally quick work of them. Even the least decomposed one, a big guy whose semi-intact clothes suggest a recent death, barely has time to grunt before he’s lying in pieces in the grass.

You try not to imagine what that would mean for your ability to stand up to those spears.

And that doesn’t even touch on all the goddamn posturing. Every time the group has to pause, even for a second, the eyes of Undyne’s little entourage turn to you. The two armored things just watch you quietly, hands on the hilts of their swords. The dogs growl quietly, the hair on their necks standing up. They’re… definitely dogs. Being threatened by bipedal beagles should be hilarious, but these ones happen to be heavily armed. 

By the time the pinks and purples of sunset are starting to bleed through the trees, you are well past done with this whole charade. You’re about to try and come up with a compelling excuse to camp for the night, whether or not the monsters want to, when Undyne stops and drops her bags.

For some reason, you never considered that the monsters would also need to stop for the night. When you imagine the horrible mythical creatures that crawled out from underground, you never thought they might need to rest. You just sort of assumed they ran on magic energy or whatever.

But the skeleton almost immediately makes a break for the edge of the clearing. You watch, dumbfounded, as he curls up on the ground and seems to fall asleep as soon as he’s down.

Undyne catches you staring and smirks. “That’s how Sans is. Get used to it, punk.”

Sans. Sans the skeleton. As you turn this new tidbit of information over in your head, the pair of dogs returns toting piles of sticks. 

You also didn’t think monsters needed campfires.

But as the flames roar to life (dangerously large, actually) and Undyne’s eye reflects the flames with a glee only a pyromaniac can muster, you realize that you’re getting a bit of a blessing in disguise here.

The monster who could have chased you down is passed out, and the rest look to be getting there. The two dogs are resting against each other, exchanging words you can’t quite make out over the roaring of the flames. Undyne is rifling through a bag, paying you absolutely no attention. The burly guards are sitting next to each other at the opposite edge of the clearing, Rabbithead animating his words with wide gestures while his companion listens intently.

Besides feeling a little bit like a seventh wheel on the world’s strangest group date, you feel like you have an opportunity just waiting to be seized here.

Undyne pulls out a radio and fiddles with the dials. You haven’t seen a radio in ages- all you can pick up on those anymore are SOS calls from long-dead or soon-to-be dead unfortunates and fake SOS calls from raiders hoping to lure targets.

You’re about to say something snarky to that effect when the radio glows yellow and sputters with static. You’re already drowsy, and the white noise doesn’t help much.

You barely notice your back slumping against a tree or the black encroaching the edges of your vision. The static is all it takes to send you off into fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undyne is _trying_ not to kill you... hopefully it works out?
> 
> ANYWHO I’m leaning towards using Y/N for the reader’s name because there’s only so much creative name-dodging I can do. Previous chapters might get some sneaky re-writing if it ends up working out for me. We'll see. I'm definitely making a significant chunk of this up as I go haha.
> 
> On that note, feedback is always welcome and honestly encouraged- there’s only so much my good friend Grammarly can do for my writing, after all.


	8. An Uneasy Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is wrong (besides the fact that you've been abducted, of course).

You wake up stiff, back aching where it rests against a tree. The radio is still playing quietly across the dying fire, fuzz occasionally interrupted by a few notes of a theme song you don’t recognize.

You yawn and look around. The monsters all look like they’re still out- even the captain is snoring quietly. You hold back a laugh at the sight. 

What you don’t hold back, however, is the sudden thrill as you notice an opportunity. You could disappear. They’d all wake up and find you gone without a trace. Heart pounding in your throat, you start to back your way out of the clearing.

The leaves are soft with dew, making it easy to keep the crunching to a minimum. You’re almost safely out of earshot of the radio…

Someone clears their throat next to you. You jump out of your damn _skin_ and whirl to face the culprit. You don’t see anything until you look down and find yourself face-to-skull with the skeleton. Of course.

How he even anatomically cleared his throat is beyond you, but you have bigger problems at the moment. The way you see it, you have two options here. You could ask questions, make excuses, and go gently along back to camp, or you could run like your life depends on it. You’re done with cooperating, so you choose running.

You summon the power of fifth grade track and field warm-ups and positively sprint into the underbrush. Mist brushes your face as you try and find a relatively straight path through the trees, searching for any hint of the trail Undyne carved to get you here. 

Your breath sears at your lungs as you search the horizon. You swear you see something shift in the corner of your eye, a flash of what you hope isn’t a worn blue hoodie. You shove that dread down and keep running. 

You have the stamina to sprint for a while, sure, but your endurance leaves something to be desired. Your muscles are just starting to burn when you feel a nauseating _pull_ backwards, the woods seeming to shift-

You land on your ass, panting. As you heave for breath, you register the painfully familiar sound of radio static, emanating from… the campsite, which is right in front of you again. 

Sans the Skeledick (yes, you’re doubling down on that one) stands in front of you, looking as smug as a shortass bag of bones can without facial muscles. 

You glare in wordless, impotent fury as you catch your breath. He just smiles back. “hey, it was a nice try. at least a c for effort.”

It’s not worth it. He’s definitely baiting you, and you can see Undyne beginning to stir next to the fire behind him. You could lose your temper… but if you want to avoid being caught, you have to do the unthinkable.

You have to be nice to this skeletal asshat.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wincing internally at how totally insincere you sound, “I won’t do it again.”

You have a feeling that if he had eyebrows, they would be raised. It might be a trick of the light, but you think his eyebrow-bone-things do lift a bit. You capitalize on the moment. “You don’t have to tell her. Really. She doesn’t need to know.”

You know he knows you’re talking about Undyne. You also know he knows that if Undyne learns about your little jog in the woods, you’re in danger. Expecting him to have a conscience is a long shot- he’s still a monster, after all. 

You wait with bated breath as he mulls it over. Eventually, finally, he extends a hand. You blink up at it.

You could have gotten up on your own… but maybe this is a sign that you’re going to have an ally. You take his weird, bony hand and start to pull yourself up-

A long, loud fart rips through the woods. Undyne snaps awake behind you. The dogs both leap to their feet, hair standing up as they sniff the air. By the time the whoopee cushion shuts the hell up, every set of eyes in the camp is on you.

All of the anger you put off to try and play nice comes burning back, white-hot. You’re about to do something incredibly rash.

“SANS!” You put your murder plot on hold at the roar of Undyne’s voice- she seems to be a step ahead of you on the "kill Sans" thing. Sans just turns lazily in her direction. You can practically feel the heat of her gaze- and the murderous intent isn’t even directed at you (for now).

“What’s going on?!” If Undyne’s usual simmer of anger, contained under those cool, smug monologues, wasn’t scary enough, her rage is terrifying.

“they made a break for it. not a very successful one, though.” You feel tiny next to Undyne, sure, but Sans still knows how to make you forget your fear in favor of rage. 

One of the dogs steps forward, axe in hand, and says something to Undyne that you can’t make out. Suddenly, the anger in her eyes is gone, replaced by urgency. “We’re leaving.”

At first, it feels like a deus ex machina. You're saved from Undyne's wrath once more! Rejoice!

But confusion quickly follows. You step forward. “Wha-”

“I said, we’re LEAVING.” And just like that, the moment's over. Something’s definitely wrong- Undyne isn’t the type to be easily fazed.

But, grudgingly, you cooperate. Yet again.

* * *

It’s once everyone slows down and calms down a little that you dare to power-walk up to Undyne (smooth, I know) and ask in your best “respectful, deferent, and slightly terrified” tone, “So, what was up with that exit?”

She doesnt stop walking. She doesn’t even look at you. “None of your business, human.”

You could shut up and maximize your chances of survival, or you could get answers. After this morning, you’re a little bit done with playing the suckup game.

“I think it is my business, considering I’m being dragged along with you.” You still check your tone, because you’re not downright _stupid_ , but you want answers, dammit.

Undyne just frowns at you and picks up her pace. Okay. Message received.

* * *

You’ve pretty much given up on getting them to answer their questions. Well. Undyne, that is. The other guards glare pure death at you whenever you get close, and you aren’t trying your patience with Sans again.

You’re about to try one last time (because you are nothing if not persistent) when the trees part.

Before you is a wall. All you can see over it is the very tops of a few buildings. You’re so busy staring up at it that you barely notice Undyne and Sans talking next to you.

Well, that is, until Sans steps up next to you. “c’mon. we’re taking a shortcut.”

You don’t have time to ask anything more before your vision flashes and flips, and you find yourself in another cell, staring across bars at Sans once more.

Fuck. He disappears before you can come at him again, and you have no choice but to settle back and resign yourself to your little cell. For the time being, at least.

You just want to go back to your familiar camp, and your sort-of friends, and _normalcy_.

* * *

Three days. It’s been three days since Y/N disappeared into thin air. Two days since the patrol sent to investigate a potential lead didn’t come back.

The camp has been thrown into a state of distinct unease. Patrols that would have been routine and boring a week ago feel like a new risk. What if more people get taken?

There are still traces of the party a few days ago lingering around the camp. Cups stuck in trees, a banner hanging halfway from a roof. It’s almost a mockery of the fear everyone’s feeling. 

And no one feels it more than the two remaining members of Y/N’s patrol. After the new blow of Morgan’s disappearance, it feels like they’re getting picked off one by one. Even Cory, usually level-headed, has been refusing to leave his tent for more than food and water.

The camp that’s been a safe haven for so many for so long now feels almost like a trap. Something is brewing, and if Y/N is still alive out there, it might be in their best interest not to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the longer my outline gets, the longer the slow burn becomes. sorry guys- the sans/reader love train is not close to the station yet. this is some real _enemies_ to friends to lovers shit apparently lmao


	9. Visiting Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to your new life- featuring an unexpected visitor, a standoff with a donut, and hopefully the most masterful master plan of escape ever dreamt.

After your stint in the tent, you're used to waiting in a cell for something to happen. You know what to expect. That's why, when you hear soft footsteps on tile, you can’t help but roll your eyes. Some monster coming to gawk at (or threaten) the new human, probably. You’re mentally preparing to chase off whatever freakshow shows up when it rounds the corner-

And all of your thoughts grind to a halt upon seeing the decidedly _human_ person stopping in front of the bars. They have shaggy hair, a too-big sweater, and most importantly, no weapons.

Their eyes widen when they see you, and you stare at each other in silence. You are rarely at a loss for words, but the sheer relief of seeing another human face has knocked the wind (and all of your prepared threats) out of you.

Finally, they speak. “You’re really human.”

That snaps you back into reality. “I could say the same about you.” You step closer to the bars. “I thought I was never gonna see another person again.”

They look sort of familiar, in a ‘minor celebrity whose name escapes you’ kinda way. Now that they’ve come closer, you can tell they’re younger than you- probably a teenager. They’re evaluating you with wide, curious eyes.

“You have to help me,” you hiss, leaning forward and grabbing the bars before they can lose interest and leave, “You’re free, right?”

They nod. You breathe a sigh of relief for the second time in the last five minutes.

“Listen, kid. I don’t know how you got out, but you have to help me. _Please_.” They don’t seem to grasp the urgency of the situation. 

“Oh.” Their eyes are wide, and you hope that means they comprehend how dire this is. “I didn’t escape. Sorry. I live here.”

You blink. Process that information. You’ve never heard about a human living with monsters-

Oh. _Oh_. That’s where you’ve seen them before! This is the human who let the monsters loose in the first place. You remember seeing them on TV, a tiny kid in a striped sweater. Their fashion sense hasn’t changed much, but the intervening years have given them a little more height. It does make sense that they’d be a teenager by now.

Your mood turns foul immediately. “Why’re you here, then? Gonna tell your _friends_ that I’m planning to escape?”

They glance from side to side, visibly nervous. “No, I won’t tell.” A pause. “I just haven’t seen any other humans in a long time.”

Suddenly, you’re not mad anymore. They’re probably, like, thirteen, and here you are treating them like some kind of race traitor. You may not be a huge kid person, but you’re also not usually the type to yell at teenagers either.

You force a smile. “Sorry, kid. I’m just a little high strung right now.”

They crack a more genuine smile in return. “S’okay. I get it. I’m used to people reacting weird when they realize I’m the monster kid or whatever.”

Even if the kid isn’t going to help you get out of here, the human face is a comfort. Being around horrible magical cryptids has made you miss actual people.

They glance back and forth again, and you chuckle. “What, are you not supposed to be here?”

They shake their head. “My mom would freak out if she knew.”

Their mom. You wrack your brain, trying to think back to all those news broadcasts four years ago about the monsters who adopted them.

“Shit- sorry, _shoot_ \- that’s one of the goats, isn’t it?” You haven’t had to filter yourself for any kids in years, and you wince for a second at how that whole question came out. They don’t seem to mind, smile widening just a tiny bit. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” Silence for a moment. They do their nervous little glance one more time, then pipe up again. “I should go. Uh. I’ll come visit again, okay?”

You nod, at another loss for words. There’s another person here, one who could help you stay alive. Just seeing them is a calming balm on your nerves. They want to help. They _understand_. 

They pause before disappearing around the corner. “Oh, also. Just so you know. Undyne’s not that bad when she isn’t pissed off, so just stay on her good side, okay?”

Alright, so maybe they don’t really understand. But that’s okay. They’re still a friend in this otherwise hostile place, and that’s priceless.

* * *

You aren’t alone for long, and the visit is less friendly this time. The armored guard that pokes its head in doesn’t speak, but the way it shoves a tray of food under the bars suggests it’s not your biggest fan. For a second you make defiant eye contact through the slits in its helmet, and you swear you see its beady little eyes flash with magic.

You suppress your shudder until the monster is gone, then uncover your tray. You expect prison food- either that, or some fucked up monster food.

But what you get is a glass of water and a pastry bag. You peek inside, tentatively… and find a perfectly normal donut. Confusion almost drowns out your relief, before both are drowned out by _suspicion_. This is far too good to be true- especially since you've already had your stroke of luck for the day in meeting the kid.

You practically chug the water first, because it looks and tastes normal and you haven’t had clean water in hours. 

Then you turn back to the donut. You stare at it, waiting for it to sprout legs or start glowing or hatch into some Lovecraftian horror.

The donut sits innocuously on the floor.

You wait. You poke it, and wait some more.

And then you feel very stupid, so you pick up the donut.

You take a very tentative bite, and frown at a slight crunch. It tastes normal otherwise, if a little strangely salty, so you look down-

And scream, and throw the fucking thing, because holy shit you were _right_ why did you eat it why-

It’s made of spiders. Spiders, pasted together with batter in those horrible little death curls they do, hidden by an outer layer of clean batter. You want to vomit. You have to hold back a retch, actually, because you just ate _spiders_.

You wonder in vague horror if this is going to be the rest of your life. Waiting for your singular human friend (who’s probably around ten years younger than you) to visit, forcing down inedible horror food in the interim. 

Note to self: next time they visit, ask the kid for normal food. God. Please. You would kill for a burger.

Although you’re not usually a total pessimist, this is quickly tipping the scales in the ‘glass half-empty’ direction.

You suppose the only thing left to do is to try and escape and hope Sans isn’t still waiting to poof you back here.

* * *

_How’s the escape plan going, Y/N?_ You ask yourself as you try to unstick your hand from between the bars. Because. Uh. Turns out your arm _can’t_ fit through.

Well, that’s a negative on that plan. Your wrist finally pulls free, and you step back to reevaluate the situation. Oddly enough, the bars seem to be controlled by a normal lock. You expected some magical alarm system or something, but hey, why look a gift horse in the mouth? They must have just repurposed a human holding cell for this or something. 

Normal locks also mean that lockpicks are a possibility here. You know your way around a lockpick. Looting- sorry, _scavenging_ \- demands the skill.

A yawn catches you by surprise, and you realize that your nap by the campfire must have been almost a whole day ago. Your sleep schedule has been utterly fucked lately, and you recognize with another yawn that trying to escape now would be a very inadvisable decision.

Begrudgingly, you settle in the corner of your cell and get as comfortable as you can. This is going to be a long night.

But at least you have as much time as you need tomorrow to plan an escape. After all, this is your life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People always seem to make Muffet's donuts in their stories like,.. delicious coffee shop fare. But also. Consider. They could just taste like spiders. And that take is much more conducive to my dumb sense of humor.


	10. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You would love to stick around, but... well, who are you kidding. You hate it here, and it's time to get the hell out.

You wake up groggy and disoriented. The brightly lit cell doesn’t do much to help, and you squint until your eyes readjust. 

Then you shoot up, because today is the day. You _are_ going to escape. You’re going to get back to camp, and you’re going to warn everyone that the monsters have gone batshit crazy. In that order.

You take another look at the lock. They never took your knife, but it looks a little too big to fit in the keyhole. Getting your hands on something narrower is gonna be paramount… but if they keep giving you nothing but horrifying monster pastries with no pointy utensils, that might be hard.

You add ‘lockpick utensil’ to your list of things to ask the kid for if they come back. Hopefully they’ll be willing to slip you a paperclip or something. 

You pace. Is it cliche? Sure. Does it help you focus? Definitely.

You can see the stairs from here. Once you’re out, you sneak up, figure out what’s on top, and act accordingly. You’re not bad at sneaking- you’d be dead (or undead) by now if you hadn’t figured out how to stealth your way around. 

Assuming the skeleton guy is finally, actually gone and that no other monsters can teleport, you should be able to make a clean break for it once you find your way out of the city. From there, you can follow the path Undyne carved back to their camp… and eventually, with a stroke of dumb luck and your meager tracking skills, hopefully back to your own camp.

And doubly hopefully, you’ll never have to eat spiders again. You’ve avoided eating bugs this long, and you intend to avoid it from now on.

You don’t realize how strange you probably look, practically wearing a track on the floor of your cell with your pacing, until you hear footsteps. You immediately stand still and put on your best 'innocent human who's going to stay here forever' face. As much as you’d like to punch a monster in the nose (snout, whatever horrifying visage this one has) and make a break for it, the name of the game for now is laying low.

You only let yourself relax when the kid stops in front of the bars, looking just as sheepish as they did yesterday.

* * *

Their name is Frisk. They don’t mind that you didn’t remember, considering how long it’s been since they were famous. That’s close to all they say the whole conversation, honestly.

They’re quiet. They don’t seem too nervous or anything, you just get the sense that they don’t like to do the talking. That’s fine. You’ve gone long enough without a human conversation partner that you could prattle on for ages.

You ask them if they know Undyne well. They nod. You ask if they could pull some strings with her to get you free. They look a little guilty as they shake their head.

“She doesn’t like most humans,” they fiddle with the end of their sweater, “it got better when we got to the surface, but then… all this happened.”

They don’t have to say anything else. A monster as angry as Undyne… yeah, she’s definitely the type to lump all humans into a group with the worst ones.

You’re tempted to ask about Sans, but just thinking of him brings back some second hand irritation. You refrain from mentioning his name.

You notice them starting to do their shifty little glance again after a while. You’re about to let them off the hook when you remember your request.

“Hey, uh, just one more thing.” You catch their attention. “Could you bring me a paperclip or… a bobby pin, or something?”

They consider you. They’re young, but you can tell they’re not stupid. They know exactly what you’d use a pin for. 

Which is why it’s a relief when they nod solemnly. You slump back against the wall. “Thanks, kid.” 

Another nod, a tiny smile, and they’re gone.

* * *

Anticipation makes time move even slower. You get another glass of water from another intimidating guard. You pace some more. You scrawl doodles in the dust on the walls of your cell. You take a nap.

You wake up to another tray of food. You peek as far as you can out of the bars to make sure whoever dropped it off is long gone. Once that's confirmed, you, stretch, feeling your muscles protest after a few hours on the concrete floor. Then you get ready to confront whatever dinner from hell you're getting today.

You lift the lid a lot more cautiously this time. A thrill goes through you at the sight of two paperclips, glinting in the harsh light.

The kid came through. If you ever see them again, you’ll have to thank them. You feel a pang of guilt that you’re leaving them alone with the monsters… but eh. They’re apparently a monster whisperer. They’ll survive.

Finally, this is going your way. Everything’s settled into place.

* * *

You wait until a guard comes back to take the empty tray, just to maximize your window of opportunity. As soon as you hear its footsteps clanking up the stairs, you pull the unravelled clips out of your sleeve and head for the lock.

It takes some maneuvering to reach it- you still don’t fit through the bars, after all- but the feeling of your picks sliding into the lock sends a thrill through you. 

You don’t know what direction the lock is supposed to turn, so you guess clockwise and hope. After a few heart-pounding minutes of feeling for the pins with shaky hands, it opens with a click.

The bars creak and swing forward, letting you step out into the basement.

 _Yes, Y/N, you goddamn badass!_ You give yourself a second to quietly celebrate before turning to the stairs and steeling yourself. 

Now for the hard part. You tiptoe your way up. The last time you had to be so stealthy was when you were getting the hell out of your old apartment building when armageddon started.

Ah, memories.

You reach the top of the stairs, peek around the corner-

And release the breath you didn’t know you were holding at the sight of a vacant office space. There’s a faded badge insignia on the opposite wall- this must have been a police station before everything went down. You catch a glimpse of more low-rise buildings out the window. Maybe not a city, but definitely used to be some kind of human civilization. 

You wonder how many innocents the monsters killed when they took this town over. How many camps of survivors they ousted to claim it. You shudder and emerge into the office proper.

There’s a lone guard, the one who delivered your donut yesterday (or however long ago that was, considering how fucky your sense of time has been). It looks asleep, slumped over the desk. There’s another radio next to its arm, buzzing with a voice you can’t make out. The guard probably can’t hear you- but you don’t want to take any chances. 

You crouch, shuffle your way behind one of the desks. As long as you can make it to the glass doors without being caught, you’ll be fine to make a break for it.

You take a deep breath and practically dive for the next desk. As soon as you’re behind cover, you wait, and listen…

Nothing. You think you hear the guard snort in its sleep, but the office is otherwise silent.

You make the next dash. The doors are only a few feet away. You calm your beating heart, take another breath, and sprint for it.

You slam the doors open with your forearms and don’t look back. 

You can see the wall, just past a few buildings. They seem to be office buildings, some more dilapidated than others. Most importantly, though, the streets around them are empty.

The doors slam open again behind you, and you don’t stick around for the guard to catch up. You head full-tilt for the only barrier between you and freedom.

The wall looms above you. It’s a tall hodge-podge of various metals, extending as far as you can see in either direction. Nothing too high-tech, but you wouldn’t have put it past the monsters to booby trap it for a situation like this. Climbing it might be ill-advised- and you also might not have the core strength for that kind of climb, but, uh, that’s another issue altogether.

Unfortunately, you don’t see any more conveniently placed doors. Climbing might be the only way up, considering you’re being chased.

If only the teleporting skeleton was on _your_ side right now.

You can hear footsteps behind you, more than one pair. That guard must have found reinforcements nearby.

You could cut your losses and go peacefully back to your life of confinement… but you might not get a chance like this again. 

You take a deep breath and start climbing like your life depends on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile. Sorry for that. Updates might continue to be sporadic for a bit, but should smooth out once I finish outlining this thing and get through midterms (ugh).
> 
> Technically I finished this yesterday, but I thought a Halloween update would be kinda fun. Happy Halloween :)


	11. Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand escape doesn't go as planned- but it's not all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for minor gore/injury in this one. Nothing too explicit, but it's in the middle/end of the chapter.

You clamber up, arms and abs burning in unison. Voices trail up behind you, at least a pair of them, but you don’t dare look down or stop moving for fear of this spell of adrenaline dissipating.

If you lose your nerve here, it’s game over. They’ll lock you back up with twice as many guards, or they’ll just decide that it’s not worth it to keep you alive.

So you climb.

You only dare to pause when your fingers scrabble over the top and you haul yourself up and over, tumbling ungracefully to the base of the wall. Sweat drips down your brow, and you lie there in a little bit of shock, staring up at the afternoon sky.

It’s not over yet. You push up to your feet, wincing at a pain in your side- whether from the climb or the fall, you don’t know, but you have to fight through it. The wall is only a few feet thick, and you can still hear your pursuers shouting on the other side.

You stumble a few steps while your feet get accustomed to running again, then book it into the trees. It takes you a second, but in a stroke of luck, you spot the path of slashed branches and trampled grass that Undyne carved on the way here.

The ground is relatively smooth, but it still smarts to run. You worry that you might have broken something, or at least torn a muscle, but it’s a small price to pay for freedom.

You barely register the footsteps to your left in time to pull the knife out of your pocket. You half expect a smug-ass fish lady to come striding out of the trees, skeleton bastard in tow…

But you get three zombies, shambling at you. Two adults and a badly decayed child- if you didn’t know that zombies forget everyone they knew after they get turned, you might have assumed this group to be a family sticking together.

The woman is the fastest- no damage to her legs, and low enough decomposition that her muscles have some integrity. She gets close enough for you to see the young maggots crawling through the gaping tooth-marks on her neck before you stab her in the head. 

With only the knife at your disposal, you have to wait for them to get close. It’s freaky.

No sooner has she dropped to the ground that the man manages a swing at you with a meaty arm. The other arm is hanging uselessly from his shoulder- it’s practically been torn from the joint, and the muscles are dry and twisted around the exposed bone.

You manage to duck the swing, and he throws himself at you teeth-first. You grimace and jam the knife up to the hilt in his eye.

It bursts with a squelch, half-congealed blood and viscera sliding down his cheek, and he falls at your feet as you twist the knife back out and face the last one.

Fighting the children is always the worst. You were never a kid person, but there’s still something ghastly about watching a thing with a five year old’s face pull its mangled body across the ground. You have to consciously remind yourself that it’s not human as you plunge the knife into its forehead. It doesn’t even twitch, just slides face first into the dirt.

You stand there for a second as the pain refocuses, side splitting into needlepricks of discomfort. You wince and press your hand against it- no swelling that you can feel, but the touch makes the pain a little sharper and hotter. Fuck. Maybe you could have walked it off earlier, but trying to fight definitely made things worse.

You’re considering whether you could even survive continuing deeper into the forest when a sound alerts you to-

The woman, slowly raising herself up onto her palms, cloudy eyes on you. She lurches forward, a little more clumsily than earlier, but more than she should have been able to move at _all_ considering you stabbed her in the brain.

You wince as you lift the knife again, watching as the man, too (whose brain you _definitely_ messed up when you stabbed him in the eye) starts to try and push himself up with that one good arm.

You’re a little too shocked to move, which is why it’s a genuine relief when two glowing spears pin them to the ground in front of you.

The captain parts the trees, singular grim eye pinning you to the spot almost as well as her spears. She glowers at you and the zombies, and when she lifts a third spear, you honestly think she’s about to make a Y/N shishkabob- you even flinch when she tosses it-

And it whizzes past you to split the child’s head open. You hadn’t even seen the thing start to move again. 

You’re exhausted. As much as you’d love to pull out some eleventh-hour super powers ( _haha, monsters, you’ve fallen right into my trap_ ) you’re drained and in pain, and you’d probably be pretty zombie-bitten right now if Undyne hadn’t intervened. 

“You’re determined to be a pain in the ass, huh?” She sounds a little resigned, and (as usual) a little pissed.

“I’m never gonna stop trying to get out, you know.” You surprise yourself with the strength of the declaration. “I don’t deserve to sit in jail.”

She considers you. It’s just you and the scary-ass monster captain, staring each other down in the forest. 

The moment breaks when, with an impressive squelch, the male zombie manages to tear itself free of the spear, ripping it out through its side, and tries to come forward again.

Undyne swears under her breath and manifests a flurry of them. You have to avert your eyes as she sends a hail of weapons down on the thing.

You stop being speechless. “What the hell is with these things?” 

Undyne lifts her lone eyebrow at you. “What, you’ve been so sheltered in that camp that you’ve never seen a zombie before?”

You fight the urge to throw your self-preservation to the wind and punch her in the gills.

“Obviously I’ve seen a _zombie_. What I’ve never seen is a zombie that can keep moving after it gets its brain fucked up.”

You expect Undyne to maybe laugh at you, or skewer you then and there for your insolence, or maybe even give you some information, for once.

You don’t expect her to look… confused. Almost shocked, really.

And you definitely don’t expect her to start storming away, crushing grass and saplings out of her way in her haste. 

She turns around and gestures urgently for you to follow- and you are _oh so tempted_ to pull the old ‘you’re not my mom’, but then you remember that you’re standing in a zombie infested forest.

And you shove your pride (something you’ve gotten pretty good at doing, lately) and follow her as she crashes her way back to the wall.

* * *

You come a little bit back to your senses at the wall, and stand there like the stubborn human you are until Undyne relents.

“I won’t lock you up again.” She glances at the treeline behind you, frowning at the sunset. “Not yet, at least.”

This is a war of attrition that you would normally be anal-retentive about winning. But even you don’t want to get into another fight with the zombies that apparently refuse to die.

Your side hurts. You’re thirsty, too, because you were too eager to run away to wait for food and water. 

You feel like shit, and you’re too much of a realist to think that you can still make the dangerous, day-long journey back to your camp.

So you sigh. “Fine. But the second you pull another weapon on me, I’m out of here.”

The captain seems satisfied enough with that.

You don’t quite memorize the mechanism to open the wall- it’s a very well-disguised panel, containing what looks like a puzzle made of small levers.

You remember some hour-long special back before the apocalypse about monster culture and puzzles, and you stifle a laugh as Undyne spends a good minute toggling tiny switches.

When the panels of the wall finally part to reveal a door, you can’t get inside quick enough- even when Undyne’s retinue of dogs surrounds you the second you’re in.

They all have murder in their eyes, and you realize in sudden panic that your stupid, injured ass might have walked right into a very obvious trap.

But Undyne steps forward. “Change of plans. The human’s coming with me."

You halfway don’t believe it- but she makes no move to restrain you or threaten you or anything. 

Monsters shouldn’t _have_ changes of heart. It’s not in their nature. Based on everything you’ve seen and been told over the last five years, what’s happening right now shouldn’t be happening.

Which is why you keep your guard up (as much as your hungry, injured self could ever guard against the captain). This smells like a trap.

But she makes no move to threaten or restrain you, even as you head into the city, surrounded by her weird, furry entourage. 

* * *

You try to take in as much of the city as possible. Undyne has seemed content for now to march you through the back streets, stubbornly tight-lipped about your destination.

This was definitely at least a medium-sized human town, lots of low-rise office buildings. Oddly enough, you haven’t spotted the usual markers of the post-apocalypse towns you’re used to. There aren’t any cars abandoned along the roadway, and although the roads are webbed with cracks, there’s no grass growing up through them.

The monsters must be maintaining this place, then. If they’ve had it long enough to build a wall and clear out the mix of abandoned vehicles and garbage that decorate most settlements nowadays, they’ve most likely been here awhile.

Occasionally, you spot something moving on the streets or in the buildings. Glimpses of smaller monsters- you see a frog, a few insect-looking things, and some shadows that flit away too fast for you to make identifications.

For all you know, all of these buildings could be filled with monsters who are hiding from you.

(Maybe word has spread that the human who killed one of them is in their city.)

You can’t wait to report this back to your camp. The popular theory that monsters are relentless, nomadic hunters seems to be only partially true- Undyne must have been leading some sort of patrol that ended up near your camp, but this is her home base.

“Where are we going?” You try not to sound too whiny, but breathing is starting _hurt_ , and you haven’t discounted the possibility of a broken rib- and there’s still the question of what the fuck just happened in the woods!

“Somewhere private. I have questions for you.” The quiet of her tone is unsettling. It reminds you of the look she gave you when you asked her what those zombies are- it suggests something wrong, but you don’t know _what_.

“I’m injured, and tired, and very fucking _done_ with not getting answers,” you stop short, and the guards surrounding you do too, growling lowly as Undyne considers you.

“Look. Obviously, keeping you locked up where you can’t HURT anyone ELSE isn’t going to work,” she says, that familiar anger making its return, “So if you give me some answers, I MIGHT just give you some too.”

And with that, you’re off again. It might be stupid to trust your captor so easily, but you need to know what's going on. And hey, at least you're not being zip-zapped around by the teleporting asshole anymore.

* * *

The building she finally lets you into is a fairly dilapidated storefront on the outside and what can only be described as some kind of clubhouse on the inside. There are swords mounted on the walls, and there’s a red and orange fire-themed carpet ( _shag_ , of all things) on the floor. 

You make a beeline for the leather couch, practically collapsing onto your uninjured side, then take your time to raise an eyebrow at the rest of the decor. 

Undyne notices your look. “Pretty badass, huh? My trainee was in charge of finding decorations.”

“Uh, yeah.” You smile uncomfortably at Undyne across the scuffed folding table in the middle of the room. “They, um, really killed it.”

You’re not sure exactly how to approach discussions now that you’ve reached a sort-of-truce. Insulting her trainee’s design tastes would probably not be a good start.

“He did.” Undyne’s mood seems marginally improved. 

It doesn’t stop her from regaining that serious, slightly murderous look a second later. 

“So, human, what do you know about the zombies out there?” 

“Is this some kind of trick question?” You shift, wincing as your ribs smart. “They’re undead. They bite you, you’re undead too. They’re _supposed_ to die for real when you headshot them, but those ones broke the rule.”

You meet her eye. “Seriously, how the hell did they do that?”

She matches your gaze, leaning forward. “We’re not completely sure. All we know is that the ones around here are getting stronger.”

“Fuck,” you can’t help but swear, “stronger how?”

She raises an eyebrow. “How about you wait your turn to ask a question?”

You bite back a retaliation (since when has this been some reciprocal trade???), reminding yourself that you’re still in enemy territory and surrounded by savage monsters who are looking for an excuse to lock you up and throw away the key.

Undyne takes your silence as a cue to continue. “So, your camp hasn’t noticed ANYTHING odd lately? No weird zombies, none of them congregating strangely, nothing?”

She finally has a chance to ask you questions, and this is what she's using it on? Something she probably saw for herself when she was right next to your camp? You smirk. “No. Like I said earlier, I had no idea they were doing anything strange.”

She gestures at you- your turn. One of the dogs (you almost managed to forget they were there, even in the enclosed space) pokes you in the back of the neck with its weapon when you hesitate.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss, “Just let me think about this.”

Surrounded by monsters, monsters who hate you, monsters you _need_ information from… you’ve never felt more out of place in your life. 

“You said the zombies are getting ‘stronger’. What do you mean? Are they just harder to kill, like the ones we saw earlier?”

Undyne’s smirk twists into something more like a grimace. “We don’t really know. Definitely harder to kill- as far as we can tell, the only way to immobilize ‘em is to get rid of their limbs. Killing them is another story, and they don’t decompose as fast as the normal ones, either.”

You lean back.

“The patrol- the one YOU interrupted- was figuring out how far they’ve spread. We only managed to deal with a few around your camp, though. I’m no expert, Al- I mean, our scientist- she deals with…”

You stop listening. 

Because you’re sitting in a stupid, garish clubhouse with a bunch of monsters, and your campmates could be _fighting for their lives_ against some new super-zombie horde.

You have to get back to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the unplanned hiatus. Finals kicked my ass much harder than I expected them to, but now that I'm on winter break things should get more consistent from here on out :)


	12. A Familiar (And Completely Unpleasant) Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Undyne start to reach an understanding. You tolerate it, but that doesn't mean you have to like it.

Maybe making a break for the door wasn’t the best idea, but hey, it’s the risk Undyne took when she trusted you to sit there and listen to the worst news of your life.

The only thing you can think as you’re roughhoused back onto the couch (besides _ouch_ , be careful with the injured goddamn human) is that Undyne is being way too calm for the situation.

‘Undyne’ and ‘calm’ don’t really fit together, but… she dropped the super-zombie bomb WAY too casually. She also really doesn’t seem to feel your urgency. How long has she known about the _new strain of fucking zombies_ , if she can act so nonchalant about it? If she was stalking your camp trying to track them down, why wouldn’t she just fucking warn you about them?

Well. Maybe because humans like you have a long, proud tradition of not trusting a single thing out of monsterkind. And maybe because humans, ~~especially you~~ , have a track record of... aggression towards monsters.

But that isn’t the damn point. The point is that this isn’t the sort of thing that you should have needed to be KIDNAPPED to learn. 

It’s a hard thing, to force your breathing to calm, relax your muscles, and meet Undyne’s boiling gaze again. _I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here._

“You’re a lot less level-headed than Frisk, huh?” Undyne’s tone isn’t patronizing so much as it’s curious, probing. As much as your assessment of her is that she’s emotion-driven, maybe even a little simple-minded… the observation is oddly revealing.

Frisk is, after all, the only other human she has to measure you against.

You laugh, a little bit manically. “Yeah, I’m less level-headed than the teenager. Sorry for having _emotions_ in this situation.”

Undyne just falls back to her regular smirk. “No one’s ever been like Frisk. Don’t worry about it.”

Silence. You can still sense the dogs looming behind you, hackles raised.

It's Undyne who breaks the tension. “You’re a murderer. I won’t forget that, not now, not ever. But you’re also our connection to humans, and you can help us.”

You stay quiet. The buzz of panic and pain and _I need to go_ doesn’t leave a lot of room for fight. Undyne continues.

“I think we both know that I could kick your ass. Those zombies could too, in your current condition, which is why I’m NOT going to let you make a break for it.” She’s smarter than you thought. Then again, you didn’t set your expectations very high.

But it seems like the captain isn’t all spears and biceps. 

“You’re an asset to us right now. I know a scientist who would love to talk to you, and apparently even Frisk has been sneaking around to visit you.” She registers the way your eyes widen. “They’re still a kid. Not as stealthy as they think.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “So, what are you going to do with me?”

“First, make sure you don’t die. You hurled yourself over the wall, then fought a bunch of those durable fuckers. I’m surprised you managed to walk yourself here.” 

You don’t have any argument for that one.

From the way Undyne smiles, you know she knows that too.

* * *

You only got to eat monster food one time before this whole predicament. As soon as the government managed a treaty with the monsters that allowed visitors, a few of your friends had the cute idea to do a kind of cryptid road trip up to Ebott. They'd brought back a cooler of monster ice cream that they'd sworn would 'change your life'. 

It had tasted like regular ice cream to you, even if you’d felt just a bit more energetic afterwards.

Now, though, the pastry one of the dogs tosses at you (and goddamn if lifting your arm to catch it doesn’t hurt) sends an immediate, cooling relief through you. You can feel the tiredness of several days beginning to dissipate, your muscles relaxing, some of your frayed nerves coming back together.

Magic. A more unsettling kind than Undyne's spears, because it's magic _inside you._

Every bite sends the pain in your side farther to the back of your mind. As soon as you’re done, you prod at the injury, gaping at how normal it feels.

Undyne wrinkles her nose as you pull up your shirt just enough to check the new lack of bruising, swelling- anything. 

Incredible.

Maybe you should have eaten that disgusting spider donut the other day after all, if this is what monster food can do. You probably would have been able to run farther.

Undyne interrupts your thoughts. “Feeling better? Good. Let’s go.”

And without so much as a moment to protest, you’re being swept up by the guards and escorted out of the garish little meeting room, to whatever your next task is.

* * *

Your next task, it turns out, isn’t much of a task at all. It’s close to midnight, and the moon is full and bright in the sky. Even from here, you can now see figures patrolling the top of the wall. The streets are empty and quiet, except for the occasional swoop of owls in the tree-line- and winged shapes that can’t belong to anything but horrifying, nocturnal monsters.

You tamp down your negative thoughts about your ~~terrifying~~ captors, just in case one of them can read minds (because if teleportation is on the table, who’s to say telepathy isn’t a possibility?)

“What’s next?” You eventually ask, perturbed by the silent walk.

“What’s next is making you someone else’s problem.” Undyne must be tired, because that fiery irritation is creeping back towards the surface of her expression.

Your stomach drops. You’re going to be tossed back in jail, or thrown into the woods- _surprise, Y/N, the monster was lying to you, of_ course _she fucking was_ -

But the street you’re wandering has opened into a suburbia, of sorts.

You haven’t been in a neighborhood, with real houses, in two years.

Rule number four-ish of living in the zombie apocalypse is something along the lines of “anywhere that used to be human civilization is now zombie civilization.”

AKA, “avoid towns at all cost”.

And although the worn-down condos are interspersed with strange, logic-defying constructions that can only be monster architecture, there’s something incredibly nostalgic about walking down a relatively normal cul-de-sac. Even before the apocalypse, suburban life was a dream only lived by people wealthy enough to get out of overpopulated cities.

Funny, that you’re walking through that ephemeral dream even after its dwellers have been eradicated.

Your musings stop as the weapon at your back pokes you up onto the stoop of an absolutely quaint, totally out of place log cabin.

You instinctively turn back to glare at the dog pushing you around for a second, before Undyne’s knock at the door regains your attention. You look back just in time to watch the door open a crack, just enough to reveal…

The goddamn skeleton, grinning at you like he knows exactly how hard his expression makes your blood boil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sans/Reader fic that's barely had any Sans in it so far. Time to remedy that one.
> 
> Also, the fact that this is almost at 100 kudos blows my mind. I don't feel worthy of all your support- thank you :)


	13. And They Were Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't know anymore if you're being strategic or just having good, clean fun. Either way, this roommate situation isn't as unbearable as you thought it would be.

You’ve changed your mind. If getting back to your friends involves getting along with this particular monster, you’d rather just throw yourself to the zombies. At least Undyne has more to her than ‘angry fish lady’.

You somehow doubt you’re going to find a heart buried in the empty ribcage of some skeletal douchebag. 

He doesn’t even have the merit of being a scary skeleton that you could put on your lawn for Halloween. Who’s gonna be scared of Hoodie McSlippers?

You stare him down until Undyne has the good grace to speak again. “Hey, Sans.”

There’s something sly in her tone that you do not appreciate. You’re not sure which one of them to glare at as she continues. 

“The human’s with us, and I don’t trust them to stay put on their own.” Rude. But probably smart, you have to grudgingly admit. “You were just SO good at keeping track of them on the journey that I thought you could keep an eyesocket on them here”

It’s when you see Sans’ eye-light-things dim just ever so slightly that you realize Undyne isn’t just trying to get on your nerves.

And maybe you’re slightly offended that she’s decided to annoy Sans by inflicting you on him, but you don’t let it show. As long as you’re not the only one who dislikes this relationship, you have _power_. Considering you’re still technically a prisoner, you need to hold tooth and nail onto any leverage you can find.

So you force a resigned grimace onto your face and push past the skeleton into your new, temporary, abode.

It’s… a lot more normal than a skeleton monster house has any right to be. There’s a couch, and a TV, and a kitchen. No jars of organs or other black magic implements, no spikes or torture racks.

Just a couple of socks on the floor. You dealt with worse your junior year of college, rooming with two guys in a dirty flat.

If not for the monsters lingering in the door, this would feel almost like life before the apocalypse. 

The false energy from the monster food is wearing off, and the full toll of your botched escape is sinking back into your bones. Your instincts have been meticulously trained to scream at you right now- _don’t let your guard down, that’s how you die an easily preventable death_ \- but frankly, you no longer give a single shit.

Undyne could have killed you a million times between your camp and here, and she didn’t. Sans seems content just to get on your nerves, and honestly, what could his four-foot ass do if he did decide to square up?

For the first time in years, you’re in a real house, with a solid buffer of metal and monster magic in between you and the zombies, and self-preservation is _not_ going to stop you from enjoying it.

You check the couch very thoroughly for anything that could be used to publicly humiliate or injure you- Sans seems like the type to booby trap seats with whoopee cushions. Satisfied that there’s nothing waiting to damage you or your pride, you flop down onto the couch (it jingles, and you make a mental note to swipe any coins you find tomorrow). You’re about to will yourself asleep- your technique perfected after years of sleeping on hard dirt and huddling in trees- when the door closes, and Sans walks up to the couch, hands shoved in his pockets.

You make a point of stretching out on his couch, folding your arms above your head, and meeting his eyes.

They’re a little narrowed, and you bask in the thrill of actually getting to him, of knowing that he knows that he can’t kick your ass because Undyne’s deemed you useful.

“so you’re totally fine with this?” No puns- he must be genuinely irked.

You play up a long stretch, your victory here a priority over sleep for the time being. “I’m fine with anything that gets me a place to crash, _buddy_.”

You feel, for a moment, like you might have fucked up- because the air gets heavy, and his smile somehow looks even more strained (you’ll wonder until the day you die how he does that without skin or muscles) and you falter.

But he’s back to normal a second later, grin easy and unbothered. “well, sleep tight. don’t let the bedbugs bite. hope you’re a fan of breakfast spaghetti.”

And just like that, he’s gone, and you’re left wondering what breakfast spaghetti is supposed to mean as you drift into cautious, restless sleep.

* * *

Breakfast spaghetti, it turns out, means exactly that- spaghetti, for breakfast.

You wake up disoriented. For a second, you almost think you’re back in your apartment, waking up on the couch after a late night partying. Well.

Maybe not partying. You really did leave that in your college days. Probably something more like watching Netflix, because for all the survivor and warrior you are now, you were a middle-aged soul before the world went up in flames.

What snaps you out of it is the sound of a voice, distinctly shouting, coming from somewhere to your right, along with the smell of something burning. You yawn, and stretch your legs out, and prepare to greet the day with all the eagerness of the prisoner you are. That is to say, none.

The burning smell is coming from the kitchen, along with the raised voice. Groggily, you shuffle across the carpet, dodging socks and only feeling slightly bad about the dirt you’re tracking all over the place.

“SANS, I’VE TOLD YOU, THIS RECIPE REQUIRES A PRECISE TOUCH.” The voice is high, and nasally, and definitely doesn’t belong to Sans.

Suddenly both curious and cautious, you make your way to the open doorway.

“you’re sure going through a lot of trouble for them, huh, bro?” Sans is unreadably, recognizably nonchalant as ever.

“OF COURSE! FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI HAS PROVEN VERY POPULAR AMONG HUMANS!” Something clatters loudly, and the smell of burning intensifies just slightly.

“i’m pretty sure only frisk’s ever eaten it.”

“EXACTLY! WHAT OTHER HUMANS WOULD I BE TALKING ABOUT?” 

The mention of Frisk’s name makes you feel a little bit guilty. You got their help with your escape, and were fully prepared to just leave them here.

You should apologize (if being in the same house as Sans doesn’t kill before you get a chance).

“we have to be careful with them,” and oh, that piques your interest, “you never know if they’re going to turn out to be…”

“SANS. DON’T DO IT.”

“...an _impasta_.”

You shouldn’t have expected something serious- but you’re still disappointed. You surprise yourself with a slight chuckle- and that’s your fatal mistake.

You always knew it would be your deeply buried dad-joke passion that got you in the end.

Sans steps out of the kitchen, eyes bright. You’re both about to say something snarky when another person barrels around the corner.

Well, not a person. The only thing worse than one skeleton monster is two, after all.

You can’t help but go from annoyed and wary to downright defensive the moment you see it. _This_ is what you thought of when reports came in of a skeleton monster- like Sans, its proportions are off, just an approximation of a human skeleton, but this one is _tall_ , with an angular skull and long, rattling teeth.

“HUMAN!” It shouts, before you can so much as wipe the shock off of your face. Before it can get out another word, you’re reaching for the knife in your pocket. “GOOD MORNING!”

You pause halfway through your brandishing gesture as the intimidating skeleton stops next to Sans, hands on hips.

Like Sans, it doesn’t stay intimidating for long once you get a good look. It’s wearing a suit you can only describe as some kind of superhero-armor cosplay, and a cape billows behind it, fluttering in wind that you can’t feel. You supposed that that’s one of the least weird things you’ve seen lately, considering Sans can teleport and Undyne can manifest weapons with which to threaten you.

This is downright tame.

“Um- good morning.” You glance between Sans- impassive, maybe a little smug- and the other one- he mentioned a brother, right? This must be him, then.

“A GOOD MORNING INDEED! YOU ARE STANDING BEFORE THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” A pause. “AND HIS BROTHER, SANS.”

The volume seems to be a constant for this one- the great Papyrus, huh?

“Papyrus- hi.” You lift the hand not holding your knife in an awkward wave. “I’m Y/N.” Sans looks casual, but his attention on you combined with Papyrus’ feels very pointed and not at all pleasant. You divert. “It’s very… nice to meet you. But, uh, is something burning?”

His eyesockets go comically wide- _how do they do that?_ \- and he whirls back into the kitchen.

Sans continues staring right at you. You stare back, calculating. Now that you’ve been so thoroughly thrown off guard, the leverage you had last night is virtually gone. Back to square one- you have to be careful not to let him win.

If you’ve learned anything, it’s that there’s more to these things than they let on. That might be a positive in Undyne’s case, but you’re almost certain that it means trying to play mind games with Sans is going to be hard.

Luckily, you’ve always been good at rising to challenges. You wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t.

A few moments of clattering and crashing later- if it didn’t mean breaking eye contact, you would go check to make sure the kitchen hasn’t collapsed- Papyrus reemerges, holding a smoking pan of… something.

You cough as the smoke wafts directly into your eyes and nose. Papyrus and Sans seem unaffected- you suppose that the lack of flesh and lungs must help with that. Lucky bastards.

“Y/N! PREPARE TO BE CULINARILY WOWED!” The smoke clears to reveal a blackened lump that may once have been noodles.

Sans grins at you in earnest from his spot by the kitchen entrance. 

“well, how about it? dig in.”

* * *

You like Papyrus, you decide. As much as you’re capable of liking a monster, that is. You have to be wary, but it’s a relief to have a buffer between you and Sans- especially considering he finds Sans exasperating, too. 

You’re surprised to find that the spaghetti is real food. It doesn’t dissolve oddly in your mouth like the monster food, nor does it send a wave of energy through you. It’s normal, horribly burned spaghetti, but at least you can choke it down knowing there’s no weird magic going on on.

Papyrus calls it ‘friendship spaghetti’. You’re skeptical of that, but keep it to yourself. Not wise to start pissing him off before you know if he’s capable of the same shit as his brother.

You don’t have to expend energy on conversation, either. Papyrus is content to talk about himself- you learn that he’s a master puzzler slash Royal Guard-in-training slash florist slash trap-inventor. You learn that Sans is his older brother. You learn that Undyne is his boss, and that she taught him how to cook.

You resolve to ask her what the hell she was thinking.

“THIS IS MY ROOM!” Papyrus says, halfway through the post-breakfast house tour that you and Sans have been pulled into. 

The room in question has caution tape plastered across it, as well as a sign that says ‘PAPYRUS’ ROOM!’ He seems to have the design sensibilities of a teenage boy. You respect it- it reminds you of yourself, circa middle school.

Oh, how you wish you still had that _NO NERDS ALLOWED_ sign. Simpler times.

“I like the stop sign,” you tell him. He lights up. 

“SANS CALLED IT ‘HOSTILE’, BUT I THINK IT ADDS COLOR!” He keeps talking, but you take a second to meet Sans’ gaze.

 _I’m bonding with your boss_ and _your brother, shortstack. If I have to be a pain in your ass until the day you turn into dust bunnies, I will._

Playing it cool is fun, but being vindictive is funner.

“THIS IS SANS’ ROOM. IT’S LOCKED- BUT THAT’S A GOOD THING. MY BROTHER IS NOT VERY GOOD AT CLEANING!!!” You could have guessed that from the socks on the floor.

“That’s too bad,” you commiserate, “I value personal hygiene _very_ highly.”

“EXACTLY!!! I HAVE EXPLAINED THE IMPORTANCE OF A TIDY LIVING SPACE MANY TIMES, BUT HE DOESN’T LISTEN.” He faces you, eyelights bright. “YOU ARE A VERY RESPONSIBLE HUMAN.”

“Why, thank you!” The smug smile is mostly for Sans’ benefit, but despite yourself, you feel… relaxed.

The knowledge of the monsters surrounding you and the wall blocking you off and the zombies swarming outside and the danger facing your camp won’t ever go away, but you can let some of the tension out of your shoulders knowing that someone is genuinely fun to talk to in this hellhole.

Even if he’s a monster. Even if his kind probably started this whole mess.

You somehow doubt that spaghetti-burning Papyrus had anything to do with it.

* * *

Sans informs you after Papyrus is done showing you around that Undyne will probably be out patrolling until tomorrow. 

Are you miffed that no one seems to be taking the danger to your camp very seriously? Yes.

Are you a little upset that you’re going to have to keep watching Sans out of the corner of your eye until she decides it’s time to talk to you again? Certainly.

But there’s a growing part of you that hadn’t realized how much you missed socializing outside of patrol and sitting on actual furniture and having access to real amenities. Why did no one know that monsters are living so well? Why do they get a real city with real fortification while you and your acquaintances fester in a campsite in the woods?

As much as you want to confront Sans and Papyrus about it- shout bloody murder until they tell you _exactly_ what happened four years ago, and how they came out of it unscathed- the selfish human at your core just wants to enjoy this luxury for as long as possible.

You especially want to enjoy this when Papyrus proclaims that you should watch TV with him.

You haven’t watched TV since the day before you fled your apartment, and all you had to watch were panicked broadcasts, warning that zombies could be a serious problem.

They were right- and you haven’t gotten to sit on a couch since.

“What kind of shows do you guys have here, anyway?” You ask as Papyrus mutters to himself about where the remote could be.

It’s Sans who responds. 

“news, mostly. without humans making their own stuff, we’re back down to one broadcaster.”

You blink at his helpful contribution. You’re not sure whether to take it as a trap, an attempt to make you lower your guard, or a genuine olive branch.

You respond cautiously.

“I honestly didn’t know you all had technology like that. I mean, my camp didn’t even have _radios_.” Of course you’re a little bitter. Monsters are watching the news in the comfort of houses while humans can’t even trust radio SOS broadcasts not to be traps.

This isn’t how it’s _supposed_ be.

Papyrus takes the conversation back. “MTT WORKED WITH DR. ALPHYS TO GET A BROADCAST TOWER UP AS SOON AS WE FORTIFIED THE CITY! THEY MAKE A GREAT TEAM.”

Dr. Alphys. You feel like you’ve heard the name before. You file it away to investigate later.

MTT, though- that’s definitely something you recognize. The robot, right? He was one of the first monsters besides the royal family to gain fame- and infamy. Pro-integrationists called his platform a force for peace, and companies that wanted to look progressive featured him a lot in the later days of monster emergence. Segregationists claimed that he would indoctrinate the youth with monster propaganda.

You never really had an opinion. Sure, objectively, you found him hot, but most people did. You also thought he was loud, and that accepting a monster celebrity so quickly and easily was a reckless decision.

But now you’re sitting between two monsters on the couch, watching as Papyrus flips through static to a broadcast of the robot in question- legs stretched suggestively up onto a desk, discussing the weather. Your guard is farther down than it has been in years, in the middle of the enemy stronghold.

You’ve been full of reckless decisions lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pinky promise this isn't going to switch into Papyrus/Reader. Papyrus is just the bff everyone needs in their life, and reader is realizing that they are not as much of a cactus as they pretend to be.
> 
> I figured after so many chapters of drama and angst, I could let them have some bonding time.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates one a week-ish. Thanks for reading!


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